


A Priori

by So_Caffeinated (so_caffeinated)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cliche, Death, F/M, Humor, I may be using the same OCs as I have in other stories, Original Character(s), Sporadic Updates, The author takes herself far too seriously given the content, Time Travel, bad attempts at sounding British, probably sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-20 02:18:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1493062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_caffeinated/pseuds/So_Caffeinated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rodolphus Lestrange infiltrates the Department of Mysteries and travels through time to attempt to alter the course of history, it's up to Hermione to chase after him and stop Voldemort from rising to power in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's Past Is Prologue

The Temporal Anomaly Detector - or TAD as those who used the devices called them - had been pointing straight toward Potentially Problematic all day. The unsettling reading was an unwelcome sight to Hermione Granger who, at 19-years-old, had just become the youngest member of the Department of Mysteries’ Historical Repair and Regulation Division ever to keep watch over the device. And when they said ever, they meant _ever_. Details like things not having happened yet didn’t get in the way of their record-keeping. It was an exciting opportunity and Hermione knew there’d be a fair bit of stress in her job, but would it have been too much to hope for a solid day of Uncommonly Steady readings for her first unaccompanied day on the job? Apparently so.

 

With a furrowed brow and wary looks at the TAD, Hermione made her way through the bustling halls of the Ministry and into the much more sparsely populated office she’d been working at for the last few months. After the war ended, Hermione, Ron and Harry had all received many job offers from all over the world. Ron had quickly taken a position with the Chudley Cannons in their marketing department - a brilliant move by the marketing team to be sure, but possibly not quite the job Ron had expected. Harry was still weighing his options, but Hermione felt sure he would take a job with the aurors soon. Like Hermione, he thrived on being a part of something bigger, on making a difference. And while taking a bit of a break after the war was both well-deserved and a good idea, inaction didn’t sit well with Harry for long.

 

For some reason, it had surprised virtually everyone when Hermione had taken her job at the Department of Mysteries. Ron in particular couldn’t seem to figure out why she wouldn’t just sit back and enjoy their success in the war. But after just a few months with no school, no battles to fight and no direction, Hermione had found herself listless and aimless. Her thirst for knowledge had left her interested in the Department of Mysteries and her Gryffindor love of adventure had driven her specifically to the Historical Regulation and Repair Division. They’d been more than happy to have her. After all, she already had experience with time travel.

 

“Granger,” called a stout, plump woman with short spiky hair and a too-pointy chin. “You’re late.”

 

Hermione grinned widely at the brusque woman with a challenging gaze. This, Hermione had learned after several moments of panic on her first day, was a routine joke around the office. Time, after all, was completely relative around here.

 

“Surely your watch is wrong, Ms Pertwee,” Hermione replied confidently.

 

“Well one of them has got to be right,” the woman replied, eyeing the seven watches adorning her left arm.

 

Everyone around the office was a bit strange, Hermione had realized shortly after starting there, but then she wasn’t exactly average herself, was she?

 

“The Keeper wanted to see you when you got in,” Ms Pertwee told her, a bit more seriously.

 

In spite of herself, a sense of urgency settled over Hermione and she had to fight back the urge to ask her co-worker why she’d not told her this news straight away. If time was relative to Hermione’s office, it was nearly irrelevant to The Keeper - or the only relevant thing to him, depending on how you looked at it. Paradoxes were commonplace with him, it seemed.

 

No one knew where The Keeper came from or how long he’d lived, if such concepts even applied to him. Hermione had only met The Keeper four times, but each time was unsettling in its own way. The Keeper existed in a space outside of time and as such had a unique perspective on it and a completely unique existence. The first time Hermione had met him, he’d been a man of about forty with ice-blue eyes, a thin face, wiry frame and hair graying about his temples. A few weeks later he’d appeared to have aged about a hundred years, with wispy white hair, poor eyesight, and abysmal hearing. She’d thought he’d not been long for the world, a notion that had given her co-workers quite the chuckle. The third time Hermione had met The Keeper, scarcely a week later, he’d been about the same age as her. It had thrown her, but nowhere near as much as it had the fourth time she’d met him when she and Ms. Pertwee had entered to find an irate toddler with icy eyes and a soiled nappy.

 

“Relax,” Ms. Pertwee chided, rolling her eyes in exaggerated annoyance. “The Keeper thinks he’s such hot stuff, but when you’ve been here as long as I have you’ll start to learn that he’s just an old man - no matter how old he looks - who loves riddles and lording over all of us like he’s got the secrets of the universe dangling in front of us.”

 

Hermione pursed her lips but said nothing. Ms. Pertwee might have a jaded view of her job and of The Keeper in general, but Hermione wasn’t so sure that the man _didn’t_ have the secrets of the universe.

 

“Well, I suppose I’d best not keep him waiting,” Hermione replied and Ms. Pertwee snorted in reply.

 

In direct contrast the the readings on her TAD, the office was slow and quiet - Ms. Pertwee headed off toward the 17th century filing room (Goblin Rebellion section); Dean Beckett, a fifty-something man with puffy cheeks and caterpillar-like eyebrows, was counting the grains of sand in a time-turner; And her boss, Sydney Bellisario, a willowy brunette who would have been stunningly pretty if not for her alarmingly large eyes, appeared to be resetting one of the many clocks in the office to run backwards.

 

“This is the most frequently I’ve known The Keeper to request us,” Sydney said suddenly, and Hermione stopped mid-step at the weight of her boss’ sudden gaze. “Since you’ve been here, I mean. I can’t recall more than half a dozen times he requested us in all the years I’ve been with this office before your arrival. Why do you think that is?”

 

At a loss for an answer, Hermione fumbled a bit before finding her voice.

 

“Perhaps he likes my company,” she proposed, somewhat ridiculously.

 

Her boss looked at her with overly-sympathetic eyes and pursed lips.

 

“It was a joke,” Hermione clarified.

 

“Not a very good one, dear,” Sydney clucked. “Just try to keep in mind that he doesn’t understand us any better than we understand him. He means well - I genuinely believe that. I couldn’t work here otherwise. But, in the grand scheme of things, when all of eternity exists for you simultaneously, a single person or even a single civilization would mean very little.”

 

It occurred to Hermione that her boss needed to make some quality friends rather desperately. She couldn’t imagine sharing such a sentiment.

 

“On that, we’ll have to disagree,” Hermione replied crisply. “There are people in my life that I can’t imagine ever finding irrelevant, no matter how long I could live or how many people I might meet.”

 

“There are times I forget how very young you are,” Sydney replied, shaking her head. “You’ve been through so much and yet you still have such optimism, such faith in friendship and goodness.”

 

Hermione smiled thinly back and tried not to be bothered by the belittling half-compliment. This woman was her boss after all. And, as had been said about The Keeper earlier, she meant well.

 

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to um...,” she said, gesturing toward the extremely ordinary oak door on the far side of the room that led to a space that existed entirely outside of time.

 

“Don’t let me keep you,” Sydney agreed, tacitly offering permission for Hermione to continue her work.

 

The Department of Mysteries - as Hermione had found out back in her fifth year at Hogwarts - was a never-ending maze of corridors and rooms that led to each other but ought not. Rather like an Escher painting, the Department of Mysteries itself was seemingly a contradiction, but made a strange kind of sense.

 

Perhaps appropriately, then, the door to The Keeper’s office was entirely non-descript. There was nothing about it that might tell you it was potentially the most important door in the history of doors. It’s only marking, in fact, was a small brass nameplate. “Marlon Tallis, Senior Manager of Temporal Regulation and Control,” it read. Giving a man like The Keeper a title - or even a name, for that matter - seemed a bit presumptuous to Hermione, but The Keeper didn’t seem to mind.

 

Opening the door and stepping through, out of reality as she knew it and into a sort of hyper-reality, Hermione found herself in the company of a fifty-something man she knew was the Keeper himself. He sat behind a desk, watching grains of sand trickle through an over-sized hourglass before tipping it upside-down.

 

“I was told you wanted to see me,” Hermione said, more as a question than a statement.

 

“I do,” The Keeper replied, looking up toward her. “Your presence is required to deal with a major distortion of the time stream.”

 

“I.... but I just checked the TAD and it was only on potentially problematic!” she cried with great alarm.

 

“And it is,” The Keeper replied matter-of-factly. “In the time you checked it, anyhow.”

 

Normally, Hermione found The Keeper’s constant use of present tense and overall perspective utterly fascinating, but upon his revelation, she mostly just found it problematic to understanding what was going on.

 

“Absent his master Lord Voldemort, the Death Eater Rodolphus Lestrange infiltrates the ministry and gains access to the Department of Mysteries itself. He knows of our office and its function. In a move of sheer desperation, he bursts through these very doors and sends himself on a journey through history to rewrite it in his favor,” The Keeper told her gravely, crossing his arms in front of him on the desk and staring over his reader glasses at her. “This cannot happen, of course.”

 

“But, I was just in the office!” Hermione insisted. “Surely if a Death Eater had burst through our doors I’d have known about it!”

 

“I understand your confusion,” The Keeper replied. “He enters immediately after the time you leave your world and enter mine. He steals some valuable artifacts that enable him - with very little control over his destinations - to jump through time three times.”

 

“But...” Hermione protested, ignoring the problem of her own limited perspective on time and jumping straight to her most important questions. “My co-workers. My friends? What will happen to them?”

 

“I do not understand,” The Keeper said, quirking his head slightly.

 

“If Rodolphus goes back in time and changes everything, what happens to my friends? Does Voldemort win?” Hermione asked desperately.

 

“My dear, your friends do not exist past the point where you walked through my door,” The Keeper told her gently, much to Hermione’s horror. “Lestrange’s actions nullify your entire timeline. You are the only exception.”

 

Light-headed and eyes brimming with tears, Hermione collapsed into the seat across The Keeper.

 

“I don’t understand,” she protested. “If this happens, why didn’t you warn us? Why couldn’t we stop him?”

 

“Because that’s not what happens,” The Keeper told her succinctly. “Time is not a line that can be altered mid-course, Hermione. Not on a grand scale. Not without dire consequences. Time exists. It is as simple and as complex as that. Just because you experience it in a linear fashion does not mean it exists that way.”

 

Not one prone to tears, but somewhat overwhelmed by the mere idea of the loss of her world, of Harry and Ron and Ginny and everything she’d ever known, Hermione let loose a sob and covered her mouth as if trying to keep it in.

 

“Everyone ever alive, lives. Perhaps not in the moment you are experiencing, but this does not diminish their importance. They do not fade in significance as your overlapping time with them seems further away,” The Keeper counseled, but it was of little comfort to Hermione.

 

“And when you do what you must, you are in a unique position to overlap again with them,” he informed her.

 

“I’ll see them again?” Hermione asked suddenly, eyes shooting up to The Keeper with hope.

 

“The world is changed,” he reminded her. “But yes, from your vantage point, you will see them again.”

 

Hermione steeled herself, knowing her journey would not be an easy one and might take her anywhere and anytime that Rodolphus Lestrange had effected in history. But she had just lost everything, her entire world; she had nothing left to lose.

 

Wiping away the last of her tears, Hermione looked The Keeper resolutely in the eye.

 

“Tell me what I have to do,” she said.

 

 


	2. Everything Happens To Everybody Sooner Or Later, If There's Enough Time

The very worst thing about time travel was not - Hermione Granger decided upon completing her third major jump through time in as many months - the nausea that even the most seasoned portkey-user would find themselves afflicted with upon stumbling into a new era. She'd thought it was, immediately upon completing her first major trip, but her little jaunts via a time-turner back at Hogwarts had given her a somewhat softened perspective on the realities of undergoing such an endeavor on a grander scale.

The never-ending series of lies that a time traveller was forced into constructing and keeping track of were bad, as was the jarring realisation that the world as you knew it simply didn't exist. But neither of those things compared to the fact that time travel forced you to recognise all the gaps and the misinformation in what you thought you knew.

Case-in-point: Godric Gryffindor was definitely brave and honorable, but he was also a drunkard, a womaniser and kind of a jerk. In great contrast, Salazar Slytherin was a somewhat pitiable man with an inferiority complex and a drive for success that had more to do with bettering himself than defeating his adversaries. He would have been hugely disappointed in his legacy some thousand years later, of that she was sure.

These facts and many others had gone wholly unmentioned in every book Hermione had ever read. It was disconcerting to realise that all her studying, all her knowledge was wholly inadequate and sometimes just plain wrong. She was starting to despise the study of history, a hugely unfortunate recent change considering her current predicament.

Realising that there was no use in bemoaning her situation, Hermione stood up, dusted herself off and surveyed her surroundings. Each time she'd traveled to a new era, she'd had no idea where or when she was going. That was The Keeper's doing. The first jarring time he'd sent her back she'd popped into existence on a staircase still under construction in Hogwarts only to tumble down to the feet of Helga Hufflepuff herself. The second time, she'd found herself in an empty bed in the Gryffindor dormitory. This time, it seemed, she'd appeared on a chilly mid-day somewhere in the forbidden forest. All things considered, it could have been worse.

"Right then," she muttered to herself, spying the castle through a thin copse of trees. "So that's the where, next question is when... followed shortly by why."

As had happened the previous times she'd been hurtled through history, a completely non-descript owl, brown and of average size with no discernible markings, promptly flew in, dropped an envelope in her hand and flew off without waiting for reply.

Ever a curious girl, Hermione tore into the letter quickly but carefully and found her own vital records, a Hogwarts transfer letter and a key to a bank vault. Per her transfer letter, it was November of 1976, it seemed, and Hermione paled a bit at the realisation of who she'd have to interact with - who she would have to protect from Rodolphus and his comrades - in this time.

No sooner had that news settled in her uneasily than a phoenix, brilliant and readily recognizable, perched itself on a bare branch next to her and stuck out its leg, letter in hand.

"Well you're prompt, aren't you, Fawkes?" she asked, reaching out for the letter.

The magnificent bird blinked back at her owlishly, as if he were greatly confused. Maybe he was.

She skimmed the letter quickly before looking back at the bird who was clearly awaiting a response.

"The Headmaster requests my presence as soon as it is convenient, I see?" she asked and the bird made a strange sort of noise affirming the message.

"Well then," the smiled, sighing and gathering up her considerable courage. "There's no time like the present, is there?"

Class was in session, so it made it relatively easy for Hermione to avoid most of the students for the time being. She had caught sight of a rather pug-nosed Slytherin boy that she was relatively certain had to be Pansy Parkinson's father and a pair of older Ravenclaws on their way to the library, one of whom she was stunned to recognize as her arthimancy professor, Septima Vector. That was bound to happen in this era. The wizarding world was not a large one and being just a few decades prior to her own time, she was bound to see glimpses of people she knew or oddly familiar faces everywhere she looked. Dumbledore himself wouldn't be the least of these.

The headmaster's letter had included a notation as to his preference for candy canes this week, and so she presumed he meant for her to allow herself into his office as soon as she arrived. In this, she was correct.

"Ms. Granger I presume," Professor Dumbledore stated, before looking up at her and cutting his thought off abruptly.

She smiled back at him slightly, fully aware of the moment of insight he was having. The last time he had seen her, after all, he'd been a seventh-year student himself. It had been 78 years since then, and she had not aged even a day.

"Professor," she acknowledged, affection and respect obvious in her tone.

He stood suddenly and rounded his desk eyeing her with a kind of wonder and blinking with realisation.

"I am sorry, my dear," he said finally, laughing a little as he spoke. "It is a rare occasion that I find myself at a loss for words, but you seem to have rendered me quite speechless."

"I can only imagine that this would be most confusing, sir," she agreed.

"So you are the same then?" He asked eagerly. "You were there - or rather then - in your past?"

"I am and I was," she confirmed.

"I see," he said quietly. "I see... We had all wondered, you know. About what happened to you. It was strange enough for a student to transfer in mid-year, but for you to leave just as abruptly... Now, of course, it finally makes sense."

It was strange to hear him speak of her time in his era as if it had happened a lifetime ago when she had been there just hours prior. But then, such was the hazard of time travel. One could easily go mad trying to make it make sense. That had been part of its appeal in the first place for Hermione, honestly. What a challenge time was to understand.

"It could not have made sense to you or anyone else at the time, sir," she said. "Honestly, I am somewhat surprised to find myself in this time now. But it must be necessary or I would not be here."

"This is not your doing, then?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"I am a Ministry employee, sir," she clarified. "My reality has been destroyed by a rogue element who has travelled backwards in time to rewrite history. I find myself whenever he has travelled and only seek to maintain the integrity of the timeline as best as I can. If I fail, I am afraid we will find our future most dire. Or worse, not find a future at all."

"This is most grave, Ms. Granger," the headmaster agreed readily. "I offer you my most sincere hope for your success and a helping hand whenever it may be needed."

"I thank you for that sir, but..."

"But, it would be best if I kept my nose out of it?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"I wouldn't put it that way, headmaster," Hermione protested. "It's only that you have an important role to play in the here and now. If you were to deviate from that to aide me, it might well be self-defeating to our cause."

"Then I am vital in creating this future you seek to preserve," he observed wisely.

"You most assuredly have an important role to play," she agreed judiciously, attempting to avoid any hint as to the eventual outcome of the war.

"Well then, consider my resources at your disposal, if not my active aid," the headmaster amended.

"For that, I would be most grateful, sir," Hermione declared, fully aware of the extent of the formidable headmaster's resources.

"Now," continued the headmaster as he gestured for Hermione to take a seat and made his way back to his desk chair, "if we might continue on with the business for which I summoned you here today."

"Of course," Hermione agreed readily, taking the offered seat and folding her hands in her lap.

"I received an owl earlier today from the ministry informing me of your transfer and that you were to be placed in Ravenclaw," he told her.

"What?" Hermione asked astonished. "But I'm a Gryffindor, sir!"

"As I recall, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore agreed.

"You don't understand. I've _always_ been a Gryffindor," she stated vehemently. "It's my home. I can't imagine belonging to another house!"

"As I suspect you once could not imagine living in another time?" Dumbledore questioned.

"Well... but I..." she sighed frustratedly.

"Your house does not change who you are, Ms. Granger," he said knowingly. "And surely there is nothing wrong with being deemed inquisitive in nature and driven by the pursuit of knowledge. Though you are clearly quite brave, I imagine those traits would also suit you quite well."

"I have so little left, professor," she admittedly sadly. "I suppose I feel like being a Gryffindor is one of the few pieces of my actual identity that remains."

Dumbledore gazed at the young woman sympathetically and Fawkes made a mournful noise from over his shoulder.

"Perhaps that is part of the point, Ms. Granger," the headmaster said kindly. "Holding on to what you were may prevent you from becoming who you are meant to be. At any rate, I cannot imagine if it were not necessary for the time-stream that the ministry would have bothered dictating which house you be assigned to."

"That's true," she admitted, though it pained her to do so.

"Take heart, Ms. Granger," the headmaster counseled. "I suspect it will not be as bad as you suppose it will be."

She didn't respond to that, but was sullenly disagreeing. She was proud of being a Gryffindor. And after feeling as though perhaps she'd been mis-sorted at first, she'd proven herself as brave and courageous as anyone in the course of the war.

"As is customary on the rare occasion we have a transfer student, you will be assigned a guide to aide you in your transition," Dumbledore informed her.

"Professor, I am quite familiar with the school and honestly don't have any need for a guide," Hermione reminded him.

"All the same, you may find the connection useful. Normally I'd assign you the prefect of your gender from your house and year, but since you are a seventh year and your prefect is Marlene McKinnon - a most studious Ravenclaw who has suffered several anxiety attacks over her coming NEWTS - I am assigning you the prefect of the year behind you," he told her. "I believe you'll find her... conversational nature and personal connections to your benefit."

"What does _that_ mea-"

Hermione's question was interrupted by a knock on Dumbledore's door announcing the arrival of a fair-skinned, dark-haired girl with a round face and pink cheeks.

"'lo, Headmaster," she smiled broadly. "You asked to see me?"

"Ah, yes, my dear," Dumbledore said welcomingly. "As you can see before you, we have a new transfer student here at Hogwarts who has been sorted into your house. I must call on you to act as her guide through these halls as she adjusts to her time here."

"Gladly, sir," the witch smiled broadly before sticking out her hand in greeting to Hermione.

"I'm Tia," she said. "It's brilliant to meet you. You'll love Hogwarts, just love it. Everyone does."

"Thank you, Tia," Hermione responded, shaking the girl's outstretched hand. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Are you a sixth year, too?" she questioned.

"Seventh, actually," Hermione replied. "But the headmaster felt you'd be a better choice as a guide for me than the prefect of my year."

"Too right," Tia responded with a knowing nod. "Marlene's a mate of mine but the girl's had a bit too much of the pepper-up in her potion, if you know what I mean. It's a right shame, honestly. She's sharp as a tack, that one, but she's let the stress of it all get to her. Goes back to her mum and dad, I think. Lovely people but loads of expectations."

Hermione understood immediately what Dumbledore had meant when he'd referred to Tia's 'conversational nature'. She'd never been one for gossip herself - too frequently finding herself on the wrong end of it - but she was a bit behind the curve here and perhaps befriending someone who was up-to-speed on the goings on around Hogwarts wasn't a terrible idea. Still, Hermione didn't know Tia in the least and she wondered how much she could trust the seemingly innocent witch.

"Headmaster, if you aren't needing us for anything else, I'm keen to get Hermione settled in her dorm and show the both of us to the Great Hall for supper," the girl proposed.

"That would be perfectly fine by me, Miss Jones," Dumbledore agreed. "There's little, I find, that a good supper cannot improve."

Jones... Tia Jones, Hermione mused, appraising the witch a moment before recognition hit. Hestia Jones? Yes, now that it had been said, Hermione could see the future Order member in this girl. The same ruddy cheeks and dark hair, same wide brown eyes. Hermione had never gotten to know Hestia Jones much, but she _did_ know the woman was a loyal Order member from the first war through the final battle. She let out a relieved sigh and smiled kindly at her classmate, considerably more comfortable with the situation knowing her supposed guide was truly an ally.

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione said, entirely meaning it.

"Lead the way," she proposed, deferring to the younger girl.


	3. History Is Mere Gossip

"Over at the Slytherin table, the redhead with the blond boy? They're twins, Abelinda and Julian Avery," Tia informed her knowingly. "He's _not_ someone you want to be friends with and she's that sad sort of girl who's never had an original thought run through her mind and would be horrified at her own impertinence if she did. Best to avoid the both of them."

Avery, Hermione recalled, was a Death Eater in her time. It was strange to look at this boy, all of seventeen years old and sitting with his sister at the supper table and know one day he'd be hiding behind a mask and attacking innocents. Part of her didn't want to believe it would happen, but a louder voice in her head told her it most certainly would. That part was intensely grateful for Tia's walk-through of her classmates. It was easier knowing from the get-go who to avoid and who to befriend.

"And that's Ferryn King over there, seventh year Gryffindor. Boys call her the 'Virgin Fairy.' S'pose I don't have to explain why," Tia continued primly looking affronted at Ferryn's very existence.

But Hermione's gaze wasn't settled on Ferryn King. Suddenly and rather loudly a group of boys burst through the doors to the great hall as if they owned the place. And, well... in some ways maybe they did. They were all so recognisable and would be in any era, at least to her. It was as she had imagined it would be and she felt some comfort in the familiarity of the scene. At least, it was familiar until a petite girl with dark hair and olive skin approached the quartet of boys, placed a hand on her hip, stuck her chin out defiantly and said something that made James Potter blush and Sirius Black laugh uproariously.

"Who's that?" Hermione asked curiously, pleasing Tia greatly by finally taking an active role in their conversation.

"Those are the Gryffindor boys. Trouble-makers, all of them, but charming about it and generally harmless. Horrid flirts, too. James Potter's the one whose hair looks like he just set a new speed record on his broom; he's your Head Boy. That one laughing madly is Sirius Black. The tall one trying to hide his grin is Remus Lupin. And the short one snickering and ribbing Sirius is Peter Pettigrew. Thick as thieves, those four, and twice as crafty," Tia outlined for her.

"And the girl?" Hermione asked.

"That'd be Clio Harper, my very best mate," Tia smiled proudly. "Known her since we were barely out of nappies. She's your year. Slytherin. Had a thing with Potter for a while back in fifth year, which for my money is the only reason Black keeps his hands to himself around her."

Hermione's eyes must have visibly bugged out from the way Tia laughed at her expression, but she couldn't help it!

"What?" she asked, voice squeaking a little. "But you said he's been mad for that Evans girl since they were firsties! And... and she's a Slytherin!"

"So you _have_ been paying attention," Tia laughed as they finally reached the Ravenclaw table and took a seat. "Sure he's been hung up on Lily from the start, but he's dated around a fair bit, too. Like I said, flirts, the lot of them. S'why Lily wouldn't give him the time of day 'til this year. Well... that and the pranking. He'd had a mostly casual thing with Clio for a long while, but he broke things off when he realised he'd never have a real shot with Lily if he didn't."

"And the part where she's a Slytherin?" Hermione asked, her understanding of the world right in front of her shifting irrevocably as the other girl spoke.

"The part where who's a Slytherin?" asked an extremely pretty, very tall girl who took a seat next to Tia.

"Clio Harper," Tia elaborated, leaving the new girl to smile and nod knowingly. "I'm just explaining the dynamics of the school a bit to our new transfer. Hermione Granger, this is Marlene McKinnon. Marlene, Hermione. She's a Ravenclaw now, your year."

Hermione had never met Marlene before. The girl had died in the first war along with the rest of her family. She was trustworthy, certainly - an Order member and a warrior against Voldemort to the last. Still, it struck Hermione as she took in Marlene's kind, happy face, that it would be very difficult to befriend someone knowing how and when they would die. She wondered, suddenly, how much she would be permitted to change. So long as the outcome remained intact, little things like a few lives saved mightn't matter in the long run. She made a note to consult her TAD regularly and look for opportunities to better the future even as she worked to preserve it.

"Pleasure," Marlene said smiling broadly and offering up a carafe. "Tea?"

"Please," Hermione nodded as Marlene poured her a cuppa before looking back to Tia. "So... she's a Slytherin?"

"Right, well you'd be hard pressed to find someone as ambitious as Clio," Tia said.

"Couldn't lie her way out of a paper bag to save her life though," Marlene added, popping a bit of pastry in her mouth as punctuation.

"But... how are they even friends? I mean Gryffindors and Slytherins are just... they're just not..." Hermione sputtered uncomprehendingly, her brow furrowed deeply as she fought to understand the situation.

"It's a long story. Let's just say that Clio and James bonded over a deep mutual love of Quidditch and somehow it grew from there," Marlene offered up.

"Well that's an abbreviated version," Tia snorted.

"And who's that girl?" Hermione asked, almost dreading an answer as a statuesque, curly-haired blonde with a sure stride made her way over toward the Gryffindor boys. The Slytherin girl, spying her, quickly left the group.

"That'd be Stella, our dorm-mate and Sirius Black's girlfriend," Marlene told her. "She's half-crazy and a total pistol, but she and Sirius have been together for... what like a year now?"

"Little over, I think," Tia nodded, thinking it over. "Wonder if they'll get married after school."

Marlene laughed so hard she snorted at that idea.

"Not likely," she said.

"You don't think Black will get married?" Tia questioned.

"Dunno about that," Marlene clarified. "But I surely don't think Stella will. Besides, everyone knows Sirius is completely mad for Clio. He just won't admit it because it breaks some sort of brotherhood code or something."

"Everyone but James knows, you mean," Tia clarified.

But Hermione had already tuned her new friends out. There was so much to take in, so much she thought she knew that she hadn't any idea about at all. She supposed it made sense. Telling an orphan that his father had been madly in love with his mother since they were both eleven made a much better bedtime story than telling the boy that while his father had been madly in love with his mother since they were both eleven, he still catted around a bit before they got together. Come to think of it, most kids probably had no idea about their parents' relationships before they'd gotten together with each other. So really, maybe it oughtn't be so surprising. It still was, though.

Her gaze drifted back to the Gryffindor boys. Lily had joined them now, seating herself next to James. Stella had sat with them, too, her gestures as she spoke grand enough to command an audience of the whole table. Peter, she noticed, hung on Stella's every word much the same way he appeared to do with the other boys.

Watching Peter was strange. She felt like she ought to hate him or pity him or _something_ , but really all she felt was conflicted. Could she save him, as she hoped to do with Marlene? Did she even want to? There was something in the boy that would lead him, _could_ lead him down a path of villainous treachery of the worst sort. If she worked to save him now, would he only turn around to prove himself an untrustworthy and dangerous opponent later? One way or another, he had to be dealt with. But looking at him now, awestruck by the tale Stella was telling and revelling in the camaraderie of his friends, it was hard to see that shell of a man she'd met in the Shrieking Shack so many years ago.

"...have Care of Magical Creatures or Ancient Runes tomorrow? Or did you not pick an elective?" Marlene was asking and Hermione suddenly realised the girl was speaking to her.

"Oh, um... I'm not certain, actually," Hermione replied somewhat sheepishly. "I've not gotten my timetable, yet."

"Just how did you come to join us here, Hermione?" Tia asked curiously and Hermione reminded herself that the girl was a tremendous gossip.

"Family emergency," she replied, which was sort of true considering her entire family had blinked out of existence. "Can't really talk about it."

Marlene nodded and Tia looked at Hermione sadly. There'd been a lot of family emergencies in these halls lately. It hadn't taken gossip to tell her that.

The rest of dinner had passed in amiable chit-chat filled with gossip. Amongst other mostly meaningless things, she found out that Remus Lupin was dating Maura Shacklebolt - Shacklebolt! - who was also Sirius' ex-girlfriend and that Peter Pettigrew had a date with Prudence Gulch, a Hufflepuff in Tia's year, this Friday. Hermione made a mental note to find out what day of the week it was soon. It seemed like the sort of thing that, unlike her classmate's love-lives, might actually prove vital to her function in this school.

The three of them were the last to leave to Great Hall, having found they enjoyed each other's easy conversation. It had taken a gentle reminder from Professor McGonagall that the house elves could not properly clean up the Great Hall until all the students were gone before the trio of girls realised the time and left. They made their way back to the Ravenclaw tower together and Hermione found it strange and refreshing to so quickly make friends of these girls. At the start of her Hogwarts career, she'd been "that muggleborn Gryffindor with the bushy hair and buck-teeth." By the end she'd been part of Harry-and-Ron-and-Hermione. Neither end of that spectrum had led her to a great many friendships with the other girls in school. So this was quite different. It was... kind of nice.

Marlene was laughing over something Tia had said when another pair of voices could suddenly be heard screaming madly at each other. Hermione's first instinct was to grab for her wand, but Tia and Marlene's reactions stayed her hand.

"Again?" Marlene asked, rolling her eyes. "She'll just fight with anyone, won't she?"

"Anyone and anything," Tia affirmed.

"That's because you're a fucking moron that can't see past that pointy little nose of yours and out into the real world!" screamed an irate woman's voice.

The three girls stepped over the threshold and into the Ravenclaw tower to find Stella, Sirius' girlfriend, looking as though she was about to stab her brush through a portrait she was working on. Hermione wasn't sure that the "half-crazy" description of earlier wasn't more than a little generous.

"It's only pointed because you painted it that way, you stupid little half-blood!" the portrait spewed back.

Hermione quirked her head to the side and stared at the picture with a dim sense of recognition. Something about the painting seemed oddly familiar. Maybe it's subject was famous?

"She's a portraitist?" Hermione enquired, her voice barely audible over Stella's "I'd rather be a muggleborn than be a part of your inbred family" retort to the portrait.

" _Artist_ ," Tia corrected. "And political activist for anything and everything that suits her fancy. As she will no doubt tell you. At length. Repeatedly. Whether you fancy hearing it or not."

Just then, Stella had had enough and threw a cup of turpentine over the portrait's mouth, the painting's screams muting as it dripped down the canvas.

"Oh Merlin!" Hermione gasped, suddenly recognising the painting and what had been missing before - the well-placed turpentine.

"Stella _Gardner_?" she asked. "That's _Stella Gardner_?"

Hermione didn't know a great deal about art, but she'd read a few books here and there, had a passing knowledge of important works and artists. And Stella Gardner certainly fell into that category. Ever a conservative society, the wizarding world had been all fruit bowls and stodgy portraits before Stella's abstract and social commentary pieces had arrived on the scene in the 70s. Her work had drawn a large following and a lot of critics - mostly of the pureblood variety. But she'd become a virtual recluse sometime just before the first fall of Voldemort after being tortured within an inch of her life by Death Eaters. Judging by the content of her works, Hermione was honestly surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

"Who the hell are you?" the girl in question asked, turning to face them, paint splattering her clothes and curly hair frizzed to a point that even Hermione almost pitied.

"I'm... I'm Hermione Granger. Your new dorm-mate," Hermione replied.

Stella studied her a moment, arms folded across her chest and gaze unwavering. It was entirely unnerving.

"Do you snore?" she asked finally.

"I... don't think so?" Hermione replied.

"You aren't one of those types who wants to kill or subjugate all the muggleborns are you?" Stella asked shrewdly.

"Certainly not!" Hermione replied definitively, a little affronted at the very suggestion.

"Lovely," she said, smiling brightly, looking mad and beautiful all at once. "We'll get along splendidly, then."

Hermione thought that Stella and Sirius might well be the most volatile and frightening couple she'd ever met.

"As if you sleep in our room on a regular basis anyhow," Marlene said skeptically.

"Like to keep my options open," Stella grinned, which was in no way a comforting thing.

"Your work is quite impressive," Hermione said suddenly, drawing Stella's full attention.

"You like it?" Stella questioned. "What does it say to you? I'd tell you what it says to me but I think you already got an earful."

"It's representative of the muzzling of pureblood women in so-called upper-class society, isn't it?" Hermione asked. "Goes a step beyond that, really, erasing the very capability of speech. It's a beautiful commentary on the archaic patriarchal system of wizarding Britain."

Stella's eyes widened as did her grin, a slowly growing thing that ended up making her look like the Cheshire Cat.

"Oh, I like her," Stella pronounced suddenly, clapping Hermione soundly on the shoulder a little too solidly. "You can stay."


	4. Charmed, I'm Sure

"Unsettlingly Stable" was not the TAD reading Hermione had hoped for on the morning of her first full day in 1976, but she supposed it was markedly better than "Cataclysmically Catastrophic." She'd roused well before her fellow Ravenclaws and, indeed, before the sun. She didn't know precisely what time it was, but honestly her greater concern was what _day_ it was.

An unusual conversation with a portrait of Professor Basil Fronsac hanging in the Ravenclaw common room proved it to be a Wednesday. The one-time Headmaster of Hogwarts had looked at her rather oddly upon her question and told her, as he gestured toward his ever-present pocket-watch, that he was well accustomed to being asked for the time but it was a first for him to be asked the day of the week. All the same, he'd been accommodating for a fellow Ravenclaw and she'd hurried back to her dorm room before the portrait's inquisitive nature might become a problem for her.

Her timetable came by owl just moments later with a note from Professor Flitwick welcoming her to the school as well as Ravenclaw and letting her know that he looked forward to meeting her in Charms later in the morning. "Later," it turned out, was a relative term. Charms proved to be her very first class, beginning at eight.

She'd met her other bunk-mates the evening before as they'd trickled into the room, curious at the rumour of a new girl in their midst and mostly quite friendly. This was for the best because if Hermione had met them first thing in the morning she'd have been left with a very different first impression. The only morning person amongst them, rather shockingly, was Stella. This may have been because the girl took entirely too much pleasure from playing the role of alarm clock for her roommates.

"Rise and shine ladies!" Stella called gleefully, ripping the blanket off Marlene as she groaned and grasped for the warm coverlet.

"I hate you," moaned Gertie Higgenbotham, an auburn-haired girl who had seemed so analytical the night before that Hermione was somewhat surprised to find her saying anything with emotion.

"I'm going to drown her in her own paints, who's with me?" chimed in Brenna Ransford with fake cheeriness.

"Martyr me and you'll never find out if the Harpies make the playoffs," Stella reminded the quidditch-mad girl.

"Oh, you play dirty," Brenna groaned, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"I don't give a rip about quidditch," called a voice from the last bed, as she pulled back her curtains and yawned mightily.

"You kill her then, Cassie," Brenna pleaded. "Take one for the team."

"What am I, a Gryffindor?" the girl responded lightly. "She's scary and I'm not that brave."

Stella laughed loudly at this, but Hermione found herself wondering what would change Cassie

into a far braver soul in the future. Cassie was one Dorcas Meadowes, future Order member and personal target of Voldemort. Hermione could clearly remember Mad-Eye Moody recalling the girl as a brilliant duelist and a force to be reckoned with. Looking at the fair-skinned blonde now, it was hard for Hermione to see.

"Stop dallying about or we'll have to skip breakfast to get to Charms on time," Marlene finally said resignedly, swinging her long legs out of bed and rising unsteadily.

"Dibs on the shower," Stella said, far too perkily, and disappeared through the door to the loo ignoring the choir of protests from her dorm mates.

In the end, the six girls had pilfered some fruit and pastries from the Great Hall and eaten them en route to Charms. From what Hermione could gather, this was not unusual. Brenna chattered on about quidditch statistics the entire way while the other girls sort of smiled and nodded at her tolerantly. This, too, Hermione gathered was not unusual.

Charms, it turned out, was a double class with Gryffindor. This was both an exciting opportunity for Hermione and something of a hurdle. Part of her knew she'd need to take an active role in protecting the so-called Marauders with Rodolphus Lestrange working to further Voldemort's efforts in this time and that would be substantially easier to do if she could get close to them. But on the other hand, it seemed near impossible to integrate herself into their already tightly-knit group. And, to be completely honest, she wasn't certain she _wanted_ to get close to them.

She had only just met Dorcas Meadowes and Stella Gardner and Marlene McKinnon, and yet she was already questioning how she might save them while continuing to preserve the timeline. It wouldn't take much, she was sure, to become significantly more invested in Lily and James, Sirius and Remus. After all, she already knew them all, to some degree. Preserving the timeline and changing their fates, as critical as they were to the future, would likely be impossible and certainly be maddening. No, she would have to keep her distance, watch over them from afar. It was the only viable option.

"Hi there," announced a cheery voice, startling her just as she and the other Ravenclaw girls stepped foot into the room.

Hermione jumped a little and turned to see the vivid green eyes of Lily Potter - _Evans_ , Lily _Evans_ \- staring back at her.

She was immediately struck by the brightness of Lily's smile, the openness written across her face, and the easy confidence the girl seemed cloaked in.

"I'm Lily," she announced, extending her hand to shake Hermione's. "You must be Hermione. Professor Flitwick asked me to partner with you in class, give you a hand filling in any gaps if your old school was a bit behind us."

Hermione hesitated only a beat before taking Lily's outstretched hand and shaking it. Yeah... that distance plan? She was pretty sure it had already gone out the window.

Everyone had settled into seats around the room, Marlene and Cassie offering a little wave as they went to what Hermione presumed were their regular seats. So, Hermione followed Lily to the front row and settled into the desk next to her. She was, quite literally, surrounded by the Marauders. It was a rather overwhelming feeling.

She shuffled papers and fiddled with her quill a moment, tapping it against the familiar wood desktop in a too-fast fashion. All-the-while, the boys she was trying so valiantly not to take any notice of were shoving each other good naturedly and laughing and generally being silly, stereotypical teenage wizards.

"Hey, you don't have to be nervous," Lily told her with a gentle smile and kind eyes. "I know it's got to be sort of jarring coming in mid-year, trying to find your place in a new school with loads of people you don't know. But it'll be easier than you think, I bet. You'll see. And I'll help you however I can, okay?"

It would be really, really hard to _not_ like Lily Evans.

"We should have had a welcome party!" James proclaimed suddenly, throwing his hands up in the air expressively. "Sirius, we missed the chance for a party! Quick! Get us to Pomfrey! Clearly something is gravely wrong."

"I blame your Head Boy duties," Sirius rebutted from directly behind Hermione. "You're entirely too distracted by things like responsibility and rules and the Head Girl."

There was a brief, sharp noise Sirius made at the end of his response that sounded a little like a muffled yelp. If Lily shot a pinching charm behind her, she was very sly about it.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said an incredibly boyish looking Remus Lupin from Hermione's left side. "And don't mind those two, they're always like this."

"You'll get used to it," Peter piped in from behind Remus.

"I'm Remus, that's Peter, the one with a mop for hair-" "HEY!" "-is James and the one tipping his chair back like the rules of gravity don't apply to him is Sirius."

"Rules never apply to me. Don't you know that by now?" Sirius shot back in a bewildered tone.

She couldn't avoid them now, that much was for sure, and she was certainly the focus of their collective attention. She smiled lightly as her gaze darted about, taking each of them in.

This was who they were now. Remus wasn't her former professor. Sirius was far from a man broken by life and Azkaban. Peter wasn't a traitor shrinking away in the Shrieking Shack. And James… James was alive. This was who they were. Teenagers, unspoiled by war and unbeaten by the world beyond these walls. They weren't the men she'd known. They never would be again. And she couldn't think of them that way.

"Lovely to meet you all. I'm Hermione," she greeted.

"We know," James assured her.

Lily was slightly less sly about her pinching charm this time. But then James hid its effects worse than Sirius had.

"Hey! That actually kind of hurts, Lils," he winced. "What I _meant_ was, as Head Boy, I was of course informed of your arrival."

"Well that and you're a new face in a really small school," Peter added. "You're kind of the only thing people are talking about."

Remus rolled his eyes and smacked his forehead with his own hand.

"Nice, mate," Sirius said, clapping the smaller boy on his back and finally deigning to settle all four legs of his chair onto the ground. "Hope you're smoother than that with Prudence on Friday."

Peter went through an interesting change of complexion as he first paled, then went a little green, then turned bright red.

"Oh leave him alone," Lily tutted. "You'll be _fine_ , Pete. Prudence is a lovely girl and she already likes you. She even told me she bought a new dress for Friday."

"But did she buy new _knickers_ , Evans?" Sirius asked, wagging his eyebrows a bit.

"Sirius!" Remus protested as Peter sputtered something incomprehensible that vaguely resembled syllables.

Hermione _actually_ felt kind of sorry for Peter Pettigrew, which is not a thing she would have ever thought could possibly happen in any life or timeline.

"That's disgusting," Lily told Sirius, rolling her eyes.

" _New_ knickers are disgusting? If you prefer old ones… well, to each their own, I suppose. Your girl is weird, James," Sirius proclaimed.

James looked like he was warring between grinning and disapproving.

"Maybe try not to scare off our new arrival before the first class, yeah mate?" James finally asked, carefully towing the line between admitting he thought his best friend was hilarious and siding with his girlfriend's indignant glare. "Besides… if I were you I wouldn't go criticizing other people's girlfriends of being weird. Glass houses and all…"

"Fair point," Sirius admitted, brow knitting and head nodding as if this deserved a great deal of actual thought.

"I like Stella," Hermione found herself saying, once again earning everyone's attention as she glanced to the opposite corner of the room where the witch in question sat straddling a chair and scribbling some sort of doodle with great intensity. "I mean, she's a little… vocal-"

"Oh, she's _very_ vocal," Sirius interrupted with an obscene grin, which everyone ignored.

"-and possibly a unsettling at first, but she seems interesting and clever."

"Interesting and clever? Boy did the hat get _you_ right," James laughed, Peter's high-pitched giggle joining in in short order.

Hermione smiled thinly and tried not to think about how much that comment actually hurt.

"She's definitely all of those things," Remus agreed.

"Yeah, also crazy," James added.

"Yes, that too," Remus agreed again solemnly.

"She just seems a touch… eccentric," Hermione said nicely.

"Sure... If by eccentric, you mean crazy," James replied.

"You're not going to defend her?" Hermione asked Sirius, bewildered.

"Crazy can be a good thing. Crazy can be a very, _very_ good thing," he replied, his tone lewd.

"Merlin, you're just a complete pervert, aren't you?" Hermione asked astonished.

"It's like she knows you, Padfoot!" James laughed uproariously.

Hermione didn't miss the warning look Remus shot at the Head Boy over his use of their own private nicknames being used in public.

"I'm an eighteen year old bloke," Sirius said, looking at Hermione as though she was as mad as Stella had just been accused of being. "We're _all_ perverts. Some of us just are more honest about it than others."

"Drag us all down with you, why don't you?" Peter asked, shaking his head, apparently regaining the ability to form words.

"Don't mind if I do, Petey," Sirius grinned broadly.

"If you all are done harassing my newest Ravenclaw, I'll thank you to pay attention so we can begin Charms instruction for the day," came a thin, high-pitched voice.

Hermione turned back to the front and found herself nearly face-to-face with Professor Flitwick, the diminutive head of her house scarcely a head taller than her desk.

"We make no promises," Sirius smiled cheekily as James smothered a grin.

It was a damn good thing for both their sakes that they were utterly charming because it was incredibly evident that they were also giant, giant prats.


	5. History is an account, mostly false, of events, mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers, mostly knaves, and soldiers, mostly fools

 

While classes weren’t covering anything particularly new for Hermione, there was most certainly no lack of things she needed to study. Transfiguration and Charms might be relatively unchanged, but her era? Her contemporaries? The circumstances of her situation dictated, naturally, that Hermione become well versed in the time she found herself in and the people she found herself in it with. 

 

As in every time, it was only a few days before Hermione found herself gravitating to the library on a regular basis. No one batted an eye at the new Ravenclaw spending time amongst the stacks of books. If anything it probably helped her blend in more. And Hermione made use of her time in the library by scouring the Daily Profit to keep informed of current events and by studying her schoolmates. 

 

She’d done this in every time she’d found herself in, but this era was simultaneously harder and easier than the others thus far. Certainly it was easier to keep abreast of the goings on in the wizarding world nowadays than it was in the Founders’ era, or even in Dumbledore’s school days. But, educating herself about her classmates was another matter entirely. For one - and she was well aware of this - she was entirely too invested in some of them. 

 

Little Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was both shorter and scrawnier than she would have ever imagined him to have been, asked her to hand him a book one day. Hestia Jones routinely planted herself nearby and chattered in hushed tones with potentially useful gossip. A girl who looked painfully like Luna Lovegood studied routinely with Lily Evans. The Marauders breezed in and out, generally in short order as the chaos they tended to generate around themselves did not suit the librarian. She even saw Severus Snape slinking through the advanced potions bookshelves by himself.

 

All of these people, people she’d known or known of or known the children of, all of them were vital to reality as she knew it should be. And all of them, in some way, silently demanded that she adjust her perception of them. 

 

“Knut for your thoughts?” 

 

Hermione startled, her eyes snapping back across the table to the pair of her roommates who had settled at her table.  

 

“Or is it a penny instead of a knut?” Stella asked a little quieter, looking disturbingly excited. “You’re muggleborn, aren’t you Hermione?”

 

“What would that matter?” Hermione asked reflexively as Marlene shook her head at Stella. 

 

“Oh, you are! That’s brilliant!” Stella said gleefully as Marlene shushed her.

 

“That’s a rather  dangerous thing to go around saying, isn’t it?” Hermione asked in an insistent and hushed voice, her eyes darting around the room and taking stock of the half dozen Slytherins in the library. 

 

Was that Evan Rosier over by the section on hexes? Lovely.

 

“It’s dangerous to the establishment,” Stella asserted, her voice mercifully a couple of notches quieter. “ Being a brilliant, magically-proficient Muggleborn is dangerous to the bloody Purebloods and their disgustingly archaic and segregated way of life. No offense, Marlene.”

 

“None taken. I’m pretty sure I’m immune to this conversation by now,” Marlene replied.  “Besides, I think my family is like the least archaic and segregated of the Purebloods, so… there’s that anyhow.”

 

“I’m going to picket the ministry over hols,” Stella said, as if this was a completely normal thing anyone might say. Like she was going to take in a show or grab a drink at the Leaky. Then again, judging by the roll of Marlene’s eyes, maybe for Stella it was a totally routine statement.

 

“You should come with me,” Stella followed up.

 

“Have you done that before?” Hermione asked curiously, trying to think back to the bits and pieces she’d heard about Stella Gardner before going back in time.

 

“Oh, Merlin, you expressed interest,” Marlene moaned, her head lolling back and her eyes looking toward the ceiling. “Now you’ve done it.”

 

“I’m a right thorn in their side,” Stella confirmed. “Someone needs to stand up and say what needs to be said and I’m not about to sit back and keep quiet while innocent people die and the ministry does nothing.”

 

“How is it exactly that you’re not a Gryffindor?” Hermione questioned.

 

“My priorities were a bit a bit skewed when I was eleven,” Stella confessed. “Plus I really can’t abide intentional stupidity. The ministry has its head so far up its own arse that it-”

 

“Can we just… not… please?” Marlene interrupted with great annoyance. “We all know how you feel about the ministry, but you tend to forget that there’s a lot of good people who work there, too. Like my father. And my oldest brother.”

 

“All the more reason to protest!” Stella insisted. “Good people need to be reminded that they have to  act to change the status quo.”

 

There was something to Stella’s particular brand of political extremism. Certainly the issues of the day needed to be recognized before any change could happen. All the same, Hermione had a great deal of her own history spent trying to ‘change the status quo.’ She’d fought for it, bled for it, watched friends die for it. And she was well aware that picketing was going to do little more than get Stella tossed in a ministry holding cell for a few hours. 

 

But Hermione was saved from having to address Stella’s politics when the girl’s lively debate with Marlene died rather abruptly. Stella wasn’t prone to quiet - that much had been obvious since before she’d actually met the girl - so it was somewhat unsettling to see her fall silent, eyes narrowed slightly, head tilted and lips pressed together thinly. Her gaze was settled somewhere past Hermione and the one-time Gryffindor found herself reflexively turning to see what had disturbed Stella. 

 

Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and Clio Harper had just walked into the library. It would have been perfectly innocuous, three friends about to study or work on homework, had it not been for the affectionate look on Sirius’ face as he watched Clio laugh.

 

“Excuse me,” Stella said, her eyes unwavering from the group near the door as she stood. 

 

Hermione wasn’t sure what she expected the other girl to do, but plaster on a fake smile and kiss Sirius right there in the library wasn’t it. Maybe it should have been. Subtlety was not a quality Stella appeared to possess. 

 

Marlene sighed across from her, but Hermione couldn’t help watching as the scene played out. Clio’s laughter had cut off rather abruptly and she’d turned away from the couple. She didn’t look upset, exactly, but she certainly looked closed off. She and Peter drifted away rather quickly toward a table, their books in hand and a sympathetic look on Peter’s face.

 

“I don’t understand them,” Hermione realized aloud. 

 

“Sirius and Clio or Sirius and Stella?” Marlene asked. 

 

“Either. Both,” Hermione replied. 

 

“Well, to understand it you really have to consider Sirius and James’ friendship and James and Clio’s history,” Marlene informed her. 

 

“How in the world does everyone have the time for so many romantic entanglements?” Hermione bewildered. 

 

Honestly, she hadn’t even managed to kiss Ron until the last days of the war and she’d fancied him for  ages . 

 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” Marlene said, winking at her. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly I like using quotes for chapter titles... mostly they aren't mine. The next chapter is finished, just being fiddled with. I'll have it up in the next few days and I promise both some longer chapters and a shift in the story fairly soon. Thanks for reading!


	6. History never looks like history when you are living through it

 

The list of people Hermione needed to watch over and keep safe had grown dramatically since her arrival in this time. Sure, in previous times there had been the occasional Prewett or Lupin she’d kept an eye over, but her main priorities had been Dumbledore himself and anyone with the last name Potter. This time around, she knew who many of these people would become, or who they _might_ become should they survive, and the growing list of those she needed or wanted to keep safe was somewhat daunting. Thankfully, Hogwarts itself offered no small amount of protection, but it had failed before and even Dumbledore in his seeming omniscience had fallen. She couldn’t afford to become complacent. Too much was riding on her success.

 

For once, watching over them all at once was relatively easy.

 

The general consensus appeared to be that Astronomy class was a double-tipped wand. On one hand, it encompassed all four houses’ seventh-years at once and had a very laid back professor who mostly let them self-study. On the other, it took place from 11 pm until 1 am on a weeknight. Hermione wasn’t certain precisely what Professor Dumbledore had been thinking when doing the scheduling, but she certainly was glad to have History of Magic first thing the morning after Astronomy.  

 

“So, _apparently_ someone thought it was hilarious to put ever-expanding goo in my telescope lens and Professor Portsworth said I ought to pair up with someone. Mind sharing?”

 

Hermione wasn’t a hundred percent sure what ever-expanding goo was, but she was fairly sure who to blame for it. And so, it seemed, was Maura Shacklebolt.

 

She’d heard the girl’s name around school a bit, knew she was a Gryffindor, Remus’ girlfriend and Kingsley’s older sister, but Maura had badly hurt herself in a Quidditch match with Hufflepuff just before Hermione’s arrival and had been confined - unwillingly, if rumour was to be believed - to the infirmary while she regrew a substantial number of bones.

 

They hadn’t yet actually met, until now.

 

“Of course. Sorry, they’re quite the pranksters aren’t they?” Hermione asked, eyes on the Gryffindor boys as she gestured for Maura to help herself to the telescope.

 

Maura scoffed a little and looked at Hermione with disbelief.

 

“Ever-expanding goo? Honestly. I expect better. That’s a _terrible_ prank. They should be ashamed,” Maura asserted, her voice intentionally loud enough for the boys to hear.

 

Peter and James both had the grace to blush and look a little contrite. Sirius just grinned overly brightly in her direction and Remus _actually_ shuffled his feet and stared at his toes.  

 

“Is that why Remus looks like someone just hexed his krup?” Hermione wondered.

 

“Oh, it wasn’t _him_ ,” Maura countered, looking almost defensive at the notion. “He’s entirely too crafty for something that mundane. This prank screams of impulsiveness and opportunity. My money’s on James.”

 

“Why aren’t you pairing up with Remus then?” Hermione asked. “Not that I mind, but I heard… you know. That you two… you know.”

 

“Are dating? You can say it. It’s a small school I fully expect you’re well-versed in who’s snogging who by now. How long have you been here. A week? Two?” Maura asked.

 

“Three today,” Hermione replied.

 

“Like it so far?” Maura questioned.

 

“It’s… not what I expected,” Hermione answered truthfully. “But I’m adjusting.”

 

“Fair enough,” Maura decided with an appraising look. “And honest, which is nice. Not much like your old school then?”

 

“There are certain similarities,” Hermione said, feeling a pang of longing. “The material is mostly the same, but the… culture is a bit different.”

 

Maura hummed and bit her lip, looking for a moment like she was debating saying something.

 

“Want my take on things?” she finally asked.

 

“Of course,” Hermione replied, honestly curious and glad to have Maura’s insight, but also wondering if anyone actually did astronomy in Astronomy class.

 

“It’s like we’re in this bubble, see?” Maura half-stated, half-asked. “But, we all know what the world’s like outside these days. Everyone’s a little angry about it and everyone a little resigned that it’s going to suck them in one way or another. But it’s made us all grow up a little faster, be a little more realistic about our futures. For better or worse, that changes people.”

 

If Hermione hadn’t also grown up with the shadow of a genocidal war looming over her, she might have agreed with Maura. But then, so few people in the future she’d grown up in had known or believed that Voldemort had returned. Maybe that had made all the difference.

 

“What’s McGonagall doing here?” Maura asked suddenly, looking fierce and alert as her head-of-house strode purposefully across the roof in her dressing gown.

 

Everyone stopped and watched. _Everyone_.

 

Hermione would have known that look on her professor’s face in any era - the severity of her brow, the crease of her frown, the horrible and sympathetic look in her tired, red-rimmed eyes.

 

Someone had died.

 

Judging by the total lack of noise atop the roof, all of her classmates had reached the same conclusion. All of them stood stock still, relaxing only after she’d passed them.

 

“Shit… _shit_ ,” Maura muttered as McGonagall stopped in front of the Marauders, her eyes trained on Remus Lupin.

 

“I am so very sorry, Mister Lupin,” she was saying, “but I’m afraid I have some rather difficult news. If you would follow me so that we might have a word in private?”

 

Maura was at her boyfriend’s side before Hermione had ever registered that the other girl was moving, her hand wrapped in Remus’ white-knuckled clench. The other boys, too, had gathered around, forming an almost protective semi-circle around their friend.

 

“Can you just… please, can you just tell me here?” he croaked, his voice uneasy and his face ashen even in the thin light.

 

“Mister Lupin… Remus, are you certain you wouldn’t prefer to have this conversation in a more… isolated setting?” McGonagall asked in an unsettlingly gentle tone.

 

Remus just nodded hard.

 

“Is it my parents?” he blurted out.

 

“Your parents are safe in London. They’re with your mother’s parents at the moment. Your mother would very much like to speak with you. She’s on the floo in my office,” the professor told him.

 

“Then, who…?” Remus questioned, unable to finish his train of thought.

 

“It’s your cousin Alice, I’m afraid,” she replied, unable to keep the emotion out of her voice as she spoke. “They say she was targeted.”

 

The murmurs and gasps arose immediately but it took Hermione a moment to register any of their words. She was entirely too drawn in by the display in front of her. It was possibly only the fierceness of his grip on Maura’s hand the the steadying presence of Sirius’ hand on his shoulder that kept Remus from crumbling.

 

It was entirely too reminiscent of the _last_ war Hermione had fought.

 

“Not Alice,” Marlene was saying to Brenna, just a few paces away from Hermione, their telescopes forgotten. “Oh, _poor Frank_.”

 

“What?” Hermione asked sharply, her eyes darting to Marlene. “What did you say?”

 

“Alice Bones was Remus’ second cousin,” Brenna told her solemnly. “She was our Head Girl last year. Brilliant witch and a sweet, brave girl. She and Frank Longbottom were practically attached at the hip for _years_. They just got engaged a few months ago. I can’t imagine what he’s going through.”

 

“Alice… Alice Longbottom is dead?” she asked, damn near hyperventilating at the revelation.

 

“Well, she _would_ have been Alice Longbottom next summer. Did you know her?” Marlene asked confused.

 

“I… I… sort of,” Hermione replied helplessly, feeling very much like she might lose her supper.

 

Neville’s mother was dead. Neville’s mother was dead and _Neville would never be born_ . Oh, Merlin. Oh, Merlin, the prophecy! What would that do to… Well, but forget the bloody prophecy for the moment. Her friend, her _good friend_ would never be born. That was worse than blinking out of existence in the first place! Rodolphus Lestrange had destroyed her dear friend, her brave brilliant friend, not once but twice now. She really thought she might be sick. Or possibly laugh madly before dissolving into a fit of tears.

 

“I need to see Dumbledore. I just… I need to see the headmaster. _Now_ ,” she said decisively, setting off for the castle.

 

She walked down the hallway and into his office before she was even really aware that her feet had carried her there.

 

“This can’t happen,” she insisted, her once-and-future headmaster looking up from his desk to her, suddenly seeming as aged as he had in her past.

 

“Ms. Granger,” he said tiredly. “I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest notion-”

 

“Alice. Alice Longbottom. She lives. She _has_ to live,” Hermione insisted.

 

Recognition and wariness lit the old man’s eyes and he stood crisply, hesitating only briefly before rounding his desk to face his time-travelling student.

 

“Ms. Granger, I want you to think very carefully about what you are telling me,” he said gravely. “You made it quite clear when last we spoke that you had cause to keep certain things from me.”

 

“I… yes,” Hermione said, recognizing dimly that this was, in fact, quite true. “I can’t… I need to preserve the timeline, but this doesn’t. This… there needs to be a Neville!”

 

“And what, dare I ask, is a Neville?” Dumbledore asked cautiously. “I would advise you to think carefully, before you respond. It would not do to speak in distress only to find it was done so in error once you are considering things more rationally.”

 

Hermione nodded fiercely and thought - genuinely thought - about her response for a moment. As she did so, tears formed heavily in her eyes and the words she wanted to say felt clogged in her throat.

 

“Neville is a friend who should have been but now can’t exist. He is… a gentle, brave boy. A leader and force for _good_ . The world was better with him in it. And now… he hasn’t even died. He simply never was . And somehow, that’s so much worse. He’s supposed to _be_ ,” Hermione insisted. “He _matters_ . He’s supposed to _exist_.”

 

Dumbledore nodded heavily at her words, his expression grave and the consolation evident in his features.

 

“You have my sincerest sympathies for your loss, Ms. Granger,” he told her. “For this is _your_ loss and, I am afraid, it is one that you alone must bear. We cannot bring your friend back into this world any more than we can do so for Miss Bones. But, if your friend is as you have described, I can only imagine that he would urge you to carry on in your mission.”

 

“He would,” Hermione agreed, though it didn’t make her feel even the slightest bit better. “I just… The Keeper told me I would see my friends again. I suppose I presumed he meant _all_ of them.”

 

“It sounds, then, as though you might want to take advantage of the upcoming holidays to visit the ministry and have a chat with The Keeper,” Dumbledore counseled.

  
Yes, Hermione realized instantly, she really did.


	7. Chapter Six - History Fades Into Fable

_Here we go..._

* * *

 

 

 

“There’s something magical about the Hogwarts Express. You’ll see!” Tia declared, her already ruddy cheeks tinged further pink from the cold and her eyes alight with excitement. 

 

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at the other girl’s enthusiasm. It had been a trying couple of weeks since Alice had died. The whole of Hogwarts seemed rocked by the loss of their former Head Girl. But, even more disturbingly, that sense of shock and disbelief had dissipated rather quickly into a horrible fog of resignation and mournful acceptance. They were too used to loss, too good at getting past it. It made Hermione’s heart ache for her new friends, both because of what they’d already been through and for what she knew was to come. 

 

“It’s best this time of year,” Tia had continued on, too excited to notice Hermione had only been half listening. “Snow’s on the ground at least half the way and I don’t think there’s a single person at school who doesn’t look forward to curling up with a nice mug of cocoa on the ride.”

 

“Well, there’s Arista Pritchard, who’s allergic to chocolate,” Marlene pointed out.

 

“As well as joy, common sense and human decency, I believe,” Stella added dryly.

 

“She can’t be all bad,” Tia shrugged. “After all, Clio’s friends with her.”

 

“Clio’s  _ roommates _ with her; there’s a difference,” Marlene countered.

 

“Forgive me if I don’t put a lot of weight in Harper’s opinion,” Stella said, bitterness dripping from every word. 

 

Tia huffed in annoyance and turned on Stella with her hands on her hips. Considering Stella’s rather noteworthy reputation and Tia’s typically innocent, happy-go-lucky demeanor, the surprised look on Stella’s face was fully understandable. If Hermione hadn’t already found herself liking Tia and valuing her friendship, she certainly would have started doing so now.

 

“Stella Gardner!” Tia said sternly, in what Hermione considered a fair but likely unintentional impersonation of Professor McGonagall. “For someone who’s all about the unfairness of prejudice, you’ve done a right thorough job of deciding to hate someone you don’t know in the slightest. So you both fancy the same boy. So what? S’not like she’s made any move to take him from you, has she? In fact, if anything I’d say she’s gone out of her way to stay  _ out _ _of_ _ your _ way. You’re both artistic, you with your paint and her with her jewelry, and you’ve both got the same taste in boys. I’d venture to say you’ve got quite a lot in common, actually.” 

 

“You know what? You’re absolutely right,” Stella said, with no trace of sincerity. “She and I should be best mates. I’ll get right on that. Just as soon as you go befriend Chara Gamp. Oh… or is it Abby Avery these days? I can’t seem to keep up with Regulus Black’s… social calendar.”

 

The younger girl paled visibly and it would have been impossible for anyone to miss the look of hurt that washed over her face. She looked like a kicked puppy, innocent and disbelieving that anyone could treat her so poorly. Stella, Hermione thought, at least had the grace to look a little guilty as the statement settled. More importantly, though, Hermione was starting to realize that both in this time and in her previous time, there was a great more to Hestia Jones than met the eye. 

 

Tia didn’t say a word back to Stella. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched on to the train with her back straight and her head held high. Still… none of the joy previously living in her eyes about their pending trip remained.

 

“That was cold,” Marlene told Stella bluntly. “You  _ know _ she’s sensitive about him.” 

 

Stella sighed.

 

“I’ll go apologize after she’s had a chance to cool down,” Stella said readily. “I didn’t mean to push her so much. It’s just… honestly, she thinks I’m just going to suddenly start relating to Clio? She’s a Slytherin from a rather dark and extremely prejudiced Pureblood family and my boyfriend has been rather obviously at least half in love with her for the entire time I’ve been dating him!”

 

“Well, as far as family goes, isn’t your mother a Lestrange?” Marlene pointed out, to which Stella only rolled her eyes. 

 

“As for the rest…” Marlene continued. “That sounds like something you could blame your boyfriend for or you could blame yourself for, since you’re still choosing to dating him, but I’m not sure how that’s  her fault at all.”

 

“I’m not about to start  _ liking _ the girl,” Stella argued. 

 

“No one says you have to,” Marlene agreed. “But you could be less bitchy about it. Bitter is unattractive on everyone.”

 

It was both surprising and kind of strange to see Stella put in her place, but between Tia and Marlene they’d somehow managed it. But, surprising as it was, that was still far down on the list of interesting things that had come out of this conversation.

 

“Who’s Regulus and why is Tia sensitive about him?” Hermione prodded, trying very hard not to sound as curious about the situation as she really was. 

 

“Oh, that’s right. You probably wouldn’t know him, would you?” Marlene asked.

 

“Sirius’ little brother,” Stella, told Hermione, looking more than a little grateful for the distraction that this shift in the conversation offered. “He’s a year behind us, like Tia is.”

 

“If you took Sirius and made someone with a personality exactly opposite in every possible way, you’d get Regulus,” Marlene added.

 

“I never understood what Tia saw in him,” Stella shook her head. 

 

“Me either,” Marlene admitted. “But clearly she saw  _ something _ .”

 

“They dated?” Hermione asked curiously.

 

“If only,” Marlene laughed. “That’d’ve been easier. But no, they were  _ friends _ .”

 

“I… don’t understand,” Hermione said.

 

“They were friends and he fancied her something fierce,” Stella informed her. 

 

“But she didn’t see it,” Marlene chimed in. “Even when he gave her a rather amazing piece of jewelry for a birthday present.”

 

“Right. Everyone had been telling her for months, too,” Stella nodded. “This was back in… what her fourth year?”

 

“End of, I think,” Marlene nodded.

 

“Anyhow, for a brief while there she had a bit of a schoolgirl crush on Sirius,” Stella continued.

 

“Like pretty much every other girl at Hogwarts,” Marlene nodded. 

 

Stella didn’t argue.

 

“And Regulus caught on to her fancy for his brother?” Hermione asked, putting the pieces together. 

 

“Precisely,” Marlene agreed. “Their friendship ended rather explosively but not before he made his feelings perfectly clear. I don’t think there’s a thing about that whole mess that she wouldn’t change if she could, but he won’t even look in her direction these days.”

 

“Talk about bitter…” Stella said, giving Marlene a sidelong glance. 

 

“True enough,” Marlene agreed. 

 

“And Chara Gamp? Abby Avery? I know each of them slightly, of course, as we’ve got classes with them, but...” Hermione trailed off. 

 

“Well he’s the Black heir now, isn’t he?” Stella asked, clearly mocking the notion. “Plenty of brainless pureblood bints are ready to line up for a chance at landing that.”

 

“Chara’s a lot of things, but brainless isn’t one of them,” Marlene pointed out. “Abby on the other hand…”

 

“Is opinionless and brainless and emotionless?” Stella asked. 

 

“Yes, that,” Marlene agreed. “Also engaged to Regulus.”

 

“They’re  _ engaged _ ?” Hermione sputtered. “But he’s not even a seventh year!”

 

“Not exactly his choice, is it?” Marlene shrugged.

 

“He’s not about to disobey Mummy Black,” Stella added. “And she’s not about to allow him to attach himself to someone who could influence him more than she could.”

 

“Which is why things ended with Chara,” Marlene noted. “She’s far too clever and driven for Walburga Black’s taste.”

 

“I maintain that you all have an absurd number of romantic entanglements,” Hermione told her roommates. “How in the world do you find the time?”

 

“We’re Ravenclaws. We’re excellent at scheduling and time management,” Marlene smirked. 

 

Stella grinned at Marlene as the train whistled a warning blow. It was definitely time to board. Tia had been absolutely right about the snowcover. Even with some rather expertly cast warming charms, the bite of winter was beginning to get to Hermione. 

 

“Shall we?” Hermione asked. 

 

“Yeah, I’m gonna pop ahead and find Tia,” Stella said with a bit of a wince. 

 

“Good on you, Stella,” Marlene said with a nod as the blonde smiled and hurried aboard. 

 

“Every time I think I have her figured out…” Hermione said as she and Marlene fell into step and made their way aboard the train as well, just a few stray Hufflepuffs boarding behind them.

 

“Stella? She’s volatile alright, but that’s because she’s so passionate about  _ everything _ . She’s not unreasonable… most of the time. And she’s pretty good at recognizing when she’s wronged someone and apologizing for it,” Marlene informed her.

 

Hermione hummed a little as she mulled that over. There were few people, it seemed, who were proving to be precisely as she’d imagined them. 

 

She and Marlene settled into an empty train car with a Ravenclaw boy their year named Alden Mockridge who Marlene had known forever. Hermione didn’t pay them much mind as they chatted, their heads tilted close together and their body language speaking volumes. 

 

She missed Ron and Harry. 

 

All of the sudden, it hit her painfully hard. She’d kept that thought locked away for so long now, throughout her travels. Even seeing James with his incredible likeness to Harry hadn’t triggered her feelings of loss and nostalgia as much as this - two old friends (and maybe a little more), catching up with easy conversation on the Hogwart’s Express. 

 

“Excuse me. I’ll be back in a bit,” she said. 

 

Marlene tossed a smile at her, but really paid no mind. She was too wrapped up in conversation with Alden. Hermione didn’t blame her for it. She might have done the same if their positions were reversed and Alden were Harry or Ron instead. 

 

She didn’t even have a  _ picture _ of them, she realized, walking alone down the hallway of the train and trying to ignore the noises of laughter and excited conversation in the cabins around her. And, like Neville, there was no one but her to miss them. Still… at least they might still exist. They  _ had _ to. She would ensure it. Somehow… 

 

“You okay?” 

 

Hermione looked up into the concerned eyes of Hestia Jones.

 

“I ought to be asking you that,” Hermione smiled lightly.

 

“Oh tosh,” Tia said with a dismissive gesture. “I’m fine. Truth just hurts sometimes.”

 

Wasn’t  that the truth.  

 

“It does…” Hermione agreed, that heavy feeling of loss still weighing on her.

 

For once, ever-talkative, ever-inquisitive Hestia didn’t say a word. She just smiled kindly at Hermione before taking a quick glance around.

 

“There’s an empty compartment just back this way,” she said, pointing slightly behind her. “If you want to talk, I mean. I know I can be something of a chatterbox about other people sometimes, so I’ll understand if you don’t want to. But… you haven’t talked at all about what brought you to Hogwarts, as far as I know. And I  _ can _ keep a secret, I promise.”

 

She could, Hermione knew. In spite of appearances, the girl would keep the Order’s secrets for decades. She was nothing if not trustworthy. 

 

“I’d like that,” Hermione decided suddenly, wondering all the while what she could actually tell the girl.

 

Tia was visibly pleased, pride written plainly across her face. And, regardless of the fact that she knew she really  _ should _ talk to someone about her losses, she also knew it was the right choice for Tia’s sake. The girl might be a formidable witch some day, but for now she was a naive but eager girl, loyal to her friends at any cost. She was unquestionably a strong ally and a better friend.

 

They made their way in silence to the empty compartment. And, the silence continued a few moments even after they sat. Tia fidgeted in the quiet, not used to the lack of chatter but clearly waiting for Hermione to start talking when she was ready. 

 

“We’ve all lost people, haven’t we? Maura said the war would suck us all in in some way, but the hard truth is that it already has. Hasn’t it?” Hermione asked. 

 

“Yes,” Tia agreed solemnly. “It has.”

 

“I lost everyone before I came here,” Hermione said. “ _ Everyone _ .”

 

Saying it aloud somehow made it more true. It filled the space of their little room, displacing the air and suffocating them with reality. 

 

“I hadn’t a single family member or friend left when I walked through those doors,” Hermione admitted, her voice thick. “And I’ve done okay, really. All things considered. You’ve all been so lovely to me and so welcoming. I just… sometimes I just miss them.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Tia said after a beat, genuine but clearly unsure of exactly what to say.

 

Which was fair, really. What do you say when someone tells you that they lost everyone they’d ever known? There wasn’t a good answer.

 

“Thanks,” Hermione said, fully meaning it.

 

“I can’t pretend to understand what you’ve gone through,” Tia told her. “And I won’t try. But you’re one of us now. You’ve only been here… what? Just over a month? And already it seems as though you’ve always been here. I count you as a close friend. I know Marlene does, too. And Stella. I’d venture your other roommates do, too. And Lily. You aren’t alone, Hermione. Not anymore.”

 

“Thanks,” Hermione smiled again, gripping the other girl’s hand tightly for a moment in gratitude.

 

“Would it help to talk about them, do you think?” Tia asked. “When I lost my mum… she died when I was eight. My dad’s great, but he couldn’t talk about her. It’s just me and him. A lot of the time I wished I could just talk to him about her.”

 

Hermione took a deep breath and stared out the window as the landscape passed by. The snow-covered hills of Scotland looked the same in any era. She could just as easily have been sitting in this compartment with Ron and Harry, listening as they talked of Quidditch or enjoying chocolate frogs. 

 

“They were brave and good. Loyal friends and  good  people. They deserved better than what happened to them,” Hermione said finally. “And I  _ miss _ them. 

 

“I miss Ron’s loyalty and Harry’s friendship and Neville’s quiet strength that no one saw coming. I miss the way the twins made me laugh, even when I felt like I shouldn’t. And the way Ginny stood up for her friends but never forgot to stand up for herself too. I miss a million things about all of them,” Hermione told her, swiping at her eyes as she spoke. 

 

“And I hate that the only pictures I have of them are in my memory and that there’s no one else left to miss them because they’re  all gone. It’s just me that’s left,” Hermione said with exasperation. “It’s not fair. It should have been Harry. He’d have handled this all better.”

 

“That’s a lot to carry around with you,” Tia told her. 

 

“It is,” Hermione admitted.

 

“I don’t know how your friend Harry would have handled this,” Tia said. “But I’d say you’re doing better than anyone in your position could be expected to do.”

 

_ Yes _ , she wanted to say,  _ but Alice Bones is still dead and Neville Longbottom will never live _ . 

 

She couldn’t say that, of course. 

 

“Maybe,” she hedged instead. 

 

“It’s silly, the things we miss about people, isn’t it?” Tia asked, somewhat wistfully. “My mum’s perfume has always been up there for me. I have a bottle of it, but it doesn’t smell the same as when she wore it. Still… it never fails to make me feel eight years old again. I can’t ever decide if that’s a good thing or not.”

 

“A bit of both, I expect,” Hermione admitted, wondering how she would ever manage to watch James Potter play quidditch without bursting into tears. 

 

“It’s okay to do once in a while, I think,” Tia said. “As long as we don’t  live there. That in mind… Professor Dumbledore has a pensieve I bet he’d let you use. You know… if you ever wanted something more like a picture.”

 

“Thanks, Tia,” Hermione said, smiling a little. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  

 

It was good advice in more ways than Tia knew. How many things had Hermione seen but not recognized as important at the time? How many minor death eaters whose names she’d never known would she recognize in the halls at school, if given a second look in her memory? Surely, given recent events, it was possible they might not be quite so  _ minor _ this time around.

 

There was nothing she could do to see Harry or Ron or the others. It was painful, but true. And Hermione had always been in favour of facing the truth, even when doing so was hard. Maybe especially then. Her old life and everyone in it was gone. But… but she had these people now. Friends, surely, and good people she needed to protect. Not only for Harry and Ron and their other friends, so that they could one day exist, but for their own sakes. 

 

“You look a bit better,” Tia observed.

 

“Perspective helps, I think,” Hermione acknowledged. “Thank you for listening.”

 

“Anytime. Shall we find some of the others and some cocoa?” She asked. 

 

“Far be it from me to deny you cocoa,” Hermione smiled. “Lead the way.”

 

They soon learned Cassie was off spending time with her twin sister, who was in Hufflepuff, and elected not to bother her. And they found Stella, but she was with Sirius. And they were…  _ busy _ . Hermione felt like she possibly might never wipe clean the image of the two of them snogging madly from her mind. Tia, too, couldn’t stop blushing. They ended up back with Marlene, who was still chatting away with Aldlen, but Brenna had joined the pair so Hermione and Tia did too. 

 

They chatted amicably, other friends drifting in and out of their compartment as the train made its way south toward London. Lily popped in for a bit to talk with Alden about medicinal charms and Maura came in briefly to talk to Brenna about some quidditch supplies that Maura’s father was holding for her at his shop in Diagon Alley. Even Clio stopped in to make plans with Tia and Marlene for shopping over the holidays. It was comforting, somehow. The business of the Hogwarts Express was familiar and oddly relaxing. 

 

Really, she should have known better than to feel at ease anywhere. And  _ really _ , she ought to have consulted her TAD. If she had, she might have been better prepared for what came next. 

 

The train slowed to a stop, after a time, as it pulled into King’s Cross. Emptied mugs of cocoa littered their compartment, and likely many others as well. Everyone loved Hogwarts, but they were all excited for the holidays. Classmates poured out of the train, eager to meet relatives and see their homes. Tia hurried ahead to find her dad, Brenna beside her. Marlene and Alden followed a few moments later. Hermione hung back slightly. She’d no one to greet her and wasn’t in any rush. 

 

The blast hit with about a quarter of the students having exited onto the platform already. 

 

It rocked the train violently and Hermione slammed to the floor. Her body was ready for a fight before her mind realized what was happening. Years of living with the constant threat of attack had a way of conditioning you to expect the worst, it seemed. This time, anyhow, that would work to her benefit. 

 

Which was good, because precious little else would today. 

 

She scrambled to her feet, hand gripping the doorframe to steady herself for any additional blasts to come. And a quick glance out the window told her that they surely would.

 

The platform was filled with Death Eaters. 

 

They’d somehow blocked off the exit to King’s Cross proper with some wards. Aurors were nowhere to be seen and already there were unmoving bodies of her classmates across the ground. 

 

_ Lily and James. Where were Lily and James? _

 

She needed to protect them all of course, but that clearly wasn’t something that could happen, so she had to prioritize. 

 

Hermione burst out of the compartment and into the hall. The earlier laughter and excited chatter was only a distant memory at this point. Screams of fear and pain rang out loudly alongside sobs of disbelief and panic. It was mostly older students in the hallway, she realized straight away, and largely Gryffindors. Whether that was because the younger kids had exited the train first or they’d hidden away in their compartments, Hermione didn’t immediately know. She sorely hoped for the latter, but wasn’t particularly hopeful. 

 

“Remus!” She shouted, spying the Marauder and his girlfriend as they stumbled out of a compartment. 

 

“You okay?” Remus asked worriedly.

 

It was only then that Hermione realized she had blood dripping down her arm and a shard from a broken cocoa mug piercing her left bicep.

 

“I’m fine,” she assured, pulling out the ceramic bit and casting a quick spell to slow the bleeding. “Can you Apparate? Are you licensed?”

 

“We aren’t  _ leaving _ ,” Maura replied like the word itself tasted foul in her mouth. “Have you seen Kingsley?”

 

“You need to get the little ones out of here! Especially the muggleborns. Do you understand?” Hermione asked frantically. “Grab as many as you can, side-along Apparate somewhere safe and for Merlin’s sake notify the Ministry!”

 

“But…” Remus said hesitantly, and they all braced against a wall as another blast hit the train and the screaming swelled. 

 

“It’s the best way you can help,” Hermione told him crisply. “Have you seen Lily and James?”

 

“They were headed toward the compartment at the front of the train that she was in earlier. She left a book,” Maura told her, relief washing over her face as brave little Kingsley ran down the hall with his wand drawn. 

 

She grabbed her younger brother and held him tight. He didn’t look pleased about it. A Gryffindor through-and-through, it was clear that little Kingsley Shacklebolt had every intention of charging onto the platform and going toe-to-toe against the Death Eaters.

 

“We’ll get as many as we can out. You should too,” Remus told Hermione.

 

“I will,” she lied. “As soon as I’ve spread the word to the other seventh years.”

 

She broke into a run toward the front of the train before the words even finished leaving her lips. She jumped over debris and brushed past other students, pushing her way toward the front of the train. Toward Lily and James. 

 

She tried very hard not to think about the unmoving light-haired boy from Hufflepuff that she literally had to step over. 

 

Finding Lily and James didn’t take long in the end, but Hermione was utterly terrified when she did. 

 

“I can’t get the bleeding to stop,” James said, his hands shaking madly and his eyes wild.

 

Lily was conscious, but she probably wished she weren’t. Deep red blood mixed with her brilliant red hair and Hermione knew, even without the wound being cleaned, that if the other girl survived this, she should always carry a scar as a reminder of this day. There were some things even magic couldn’t fix. 

 

“It’s cursed or something,” James panicked. “Healing spells aren’t doing anything! Why aren’t they doing anything?!”

 

“Keep pressure on it,” Hermione ordered sharply, moving to press his hand firmly against the wound. “Give me your jumper.”

 

“How will that he-”

 

“Muggles do it,” Hermione told him, casting a freezing charm on his jumper and thrusting it into his hand. “It helps staunch the bleeding. Head wounds bleed a lot. You’ll need to keep it up until help gets here and they can get her to Mungo’s. Do you understand?”

 

“But… the others? I’m Head Boy. I should be… but I need to stay here,” he said, shell-shocked and torn.

 

“You do. You need to stay here. James? Listen to me, James,” Hermione said, snapping her fingers and earning his attention. “This is important. This is one of  _ the most _ important things you will  _ ever _ do. Do you understand me? You need to keep yourself and Lily safe. You can’t worry about everyone else right now. We’ll take care of them. You just do this.”

 

Every second that passed meant more danger, more friends in danger and possibly dead. Remus and Maura were presumably safe, as were James and hopefully Lily for the moment, but there were so,  _ so _ many others she needed to see safe. 

 

“Are they… have you seen anyone else?” James asked. 

 

“Remus and Maura are getting the younger ones to safety,” Hermione assured him.

 

“Muggleborns,” Lily muttered, which was rather amazing all things considered.

 

“They have priority,” Hermione assured her. 

 

“How did this happen?” James wondered aloud.

 

_ Good question _ , Hermione thought to herself.

 

“Have you seen Sirius? Or Peter?” James asked, looking hopeful and terrified of the answer all at once. 

 

“No,” she said. “I’ll go find them. They can help.”

 

James nodded.

 

“Be careful,” he said, as serious as she’d ever seen him. 

 

She nodded back as she left the room. 

 

The little Hufflepuff in the hall still hadn’t moved. She’d seen that vacant look in enough eyes to know he never would again. 

 

_ Oh Merlin, let me wake up _ , Hermione pleaded silently as she barreled toward the train’s exit.  _ This has to be a nightmare. It has to be . _

 

But it was entirely too real. 

 

She didn’t have to wonder in the least where she would find Sirius. He had always run toward a fight instead of away from it. This time would be no different. He’d be on the platform. She had no doubt about that. 

 

The platform itself, she found, was a mess of broken glass, abandoned luggage and blood. Later, when she would think back to this moment, she would wonder how she kept as cool a head as she did. She’d been through many a battle before, of course, but never without Harry and Ron at her side. 

 

Beams of light shot back and forth, curses and hexes and defensive charms. Far too much of it was a sickly green colour. 

 

The first person she saw clearly was Sirius. He was in the thick of things, as she’d known he’d be, battling two Death Eaters at once. He was good, certainly, but he was also young and unused to battle. Hermione raised her wand, ready to join him in the fight, when a bone-chilling scream of his name ripped through the air. 

 

It was only because he turned to look in the direction it had come from, toward Clio, that he narrowly missed a killing curse from a third Death Eater that Hermione hadn’t even seen.

 

He whirled on the third Death Eater, petrifying him in short order as Hermione cast a  _ Reducto _ on a column next to the other two. She felt absolutely no remorse as it collapsed on them. 

 

“Are you alright?” Sirius asked Clio, bounding toward her and helping free her from some sort of magical vines that had held her in place.

 

“Me?” she asked with a sharp, humourless laugh. “I get rooted in place while you have three Death Eaters trying to  _ kill _ you and you’re worried about  _ me ? _ Thank you, Hermione, for your assistance.”

 

Hermione smiled briefly at the other girl before turning back to the fight. The danger, after all, was far from over. 

 

They were off to the side a bit, isolated slightly now that the column had fallen. Strategically, it wasn’t a bad position. But the carnage across the platform was growing by the second. 

 

“Oh  _ shit _ ,” Hermione cursed as she looked across the battlefield. 

 

Dorcas Meadowes fell before her eyes, a slicing hex gouging deeply through her middle. The girl was dead before her body hit the ground.  Not five paces away from her body lay Severus Snape. He twitched momentarily, choking on his own blood, terror visible in his eyes even from some distance. And then… nothing. He went still, terror and every other emotion seeping out of his eyes as the life dimmed from them. 

 

“Oh my God,” Hermione muttered as she saw two Death Eaters closing in on a Slytherin boy that  _ had _ to be Regulus Black and another clearly focused on Tia. 

 

It wasn’t muggleborns they were targeting. Not this time. They were targeting future Order members. People who would make a difference in the war as it progressed.

 

Regulus Black was not the fighter his brother was, that much was immediately evident. Also immediately evident was that he was currently their prime target. The confusion on his face was mirrored by all of the other students around him. To their minds, of course, it would make no sense why Regulus Black - heir to the Black family, Slytherin and generally obedient Pureblood - would be a target. But Hermione knew. Somehow, Rodolphus had found out what had happened, what  _ would _ happen, with Slytherin’s locket. 

 

“We need to help your brother.  _ Now _ ,” Hermione said to Sirius, who looked fully thrown by the situation but moved along with Hermione instantly, pushing past rubble with their wands drawn.

 

“ _ NO !” _

 

It was Tia who yelled, barreling toward her former friend at full force. 

 

She had to have known what would happen, should she reach him in time. She must have seen the words leave that Death Eater’s lips and  _ known _ the fate that would befall one of them. But the brave, loyal girl acted anyhow, even on behalf of a former friend who hadn’t so much as looked at her in two years. 

 

She knocked Regulus out of the way on time, but the green beam of light hit her instead. Her body weighed Regulus down, blocking the Death Eaters from making an easy shot. It bought them exactly enough time. 

 

Dumbledore _Apparated_ into their midst in a fury, wand drawn and on the offensive before he’d even fully materialized. 

 

“Let’s away,” ordered one of the Death Eaters to the others, voice high and feminine. “We’ve made our mark enough here today.”

 

Clio, already incredibly distraught and collapsed next to Tia, paled further and her eyes shot up in surprise at the voice, looking from Sirius to the Death Eater who’d spoken and back again. From the look on Sirius’ face, Hermione felt certain that they both knew precisely who that woman was, but Hermione didn’t. The Death Eater in question was far too short to be Bellatrix and Hermione couldn’t recall any other female Death Eaters from her era. 

 

The surviving Death Eaters - which was most of them -  _ Apparated _ away save for two who were unconscious and one who was well restrained and being screamed at by a rather terrifying Stella.

 

“Tia… Oh  _ Merlin _ , Tia. Why did you  do that? You silly, stupid girl,” Regulus was shouting at the Ravenclaw’s body, which was draped across his lap. “You shouldn’t have  _ done _ that!”

 

The words were angry, but the tone was as mournful as Hermione had ever heard. Regulus’ shoulders shook and he cradled her body gently, a hand running through her dark hair. It was plainly evident that whatever their recent relationship had been like and whoever he was dating or engaged to, his feelings for the girl hadn’t changed. 

 

“Reggie,” Sirius started awkwardly, trying to put a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. 

 

The younger boy shrugged it away and gripped Tia’s body tighter, hiding his undoubtedly tear-strewn face from everyone. 

 

Aurors burst through the wards blocking access to the platform suddenly. Healers followed in short order as the Aurors realized that the immediate threat had passed.

 

“Lily’s badly hurt, professor,” Hermione remembered aloud. “She’s at the front of the train. James is with her. She needs immediate medical attention.”

 

The headmaster gestured to a nearby healer to attend to the Head Girl and then turned to survey the extent of the damage. There was  so much. So many hurt or dead. So many children with lives cut short. The weight of reality settled on Dumbledore’s shoulders and shaded his eyes. 

 

“This shouldn’t have happened,” Hermione told him as he looked to her.

 

“On that, Miss Granger, we most definitely agree,” he replied sadly, moving to close Severus Snape’s still opened eyes. 

 

Everywhere she looked, Hermione saw her failure and Rodolphus’ victories. Cassie, sweet Cassie who would have learned to be brave, lay still, her identical twin utterly inconsolable at her side. Severus Snape broken against the pavement. Peter and a stricken-looking James refusing to leave Lily’s side as the healers gently moved her off the train. Marlene and Alden tending to the more minor wounds on some of the littler ones, working through their tears. Clio, her head buried in Sirius’ chest as her whole frame shook with tears. Regulus Black, threatening the healer who tried to take Tia’s body away from him. 

 

One thing was immediately and painfully clear. The future, as she knew it, was an impossibility at this point. But the people here and now? They needed her help  _ badly _ . And, really, Harry and Ron would never understand if she didn’t work to give them a  better future. One where Voldemort was nothing but a history lesson.

 

“Professor,” Hermione said decisively and his mournful blue eyes eyes settled on her. “I think it’s time we had a talk. I think it’s  _ past _ time.”

 


	8. We would like to live as we once lived, but history will not permit

 

Hermione had been aware of Dumbledore’s influence since virtually the moment she’d met the man. but the manner with which he dealt with the fallout from the attack on the Hogwart’s Express impressed even her.

 

Save for those students whose parents were immediately on hand, Dumbledore arranged for a series of emergency floos at the Ministry. Nearly everyone was back at Hogwarts within the hour; There’d been no opportunity for Hermione to see The Keeper. Aurors would have to come to them with questions. Parents not already at King’s Cross would have to travel up to Scotland to retrieve their children. His actions were swift and decisive. And, truth be told, they were probably exactly what the surviving student body needed.

 

Still, though she saw him on occasion throughout the next two days, he was undeniably exceedingly busy. They needed to talk about the future, certainly, but matters of the present demanded his attention first.

 

So, for two days, Hermione Granger wallowed.

 

The guilt she felt sat heavily in her chest nearly all the time. And it was only made worse looking at the empty spaces where Cassie and Brenna’s beds had once sat. Like Tia and so many others, neither girl had made it off the platform alive.

 

It was at the end of dinner that he found her. Most of her food sat untouched on her plate, having simply been pushed around absently. She hadn’t the stomach for much these past few days.

 

“With me, if you please, Ms. Granger,” Dumbledore stated.

 

It could not have been taken as anything other than a command.

 

She followed him silently through the halls, Hogwarts as quiet as she’d ever heard it. They’d all suffered losses before, but this was on a different scale. This hit home in an entirely new way. Students were mostly in the infirmary or huddled together in the Great Hall or their common rooms. No one seemed to want to be alone.

 

“I apologize that this meeting has taken several days to come to fruition,” He said tightly as the door to his office shut behind them. “I have been otherwise occupied, as you might imagine.”

 

“I understand, professor,” she nodded.

 

“I neither demanded explanation nor consulted with the ministry regarding your appearance when you walked through my doors,” he told her.

 

“I appreciate that, sir,” she told him.

 

“I lost thirteen students two days ago. _Thirteen_ ,” he said weightily. “More of them from your house than any other. And I cannot help but feel that I am at fault for not demanding answers from you when I still had the chance to save their lives.”

 

“I didn’t know they were in danger, professor. Not now. Not like _this_ ,” she pleaded. “I swear it. This didn’t _happen_. It wasn’t… it wasn’t like this. Things got bad and people died, yes. And it was awful, but not like _this_.”

 

“Be that as it may, your fellow time traveller clearly has no reservations about using his knowledge to aid Voldemort. You, I am afraid, no longer have the luxury of staying your tongue,” he told her. “If we are to have any hope of a livable future, any hope at all of surviving the Death Eaters’ reign of terror, we _must_ use your experiences to our advantage.”

 

“I know,” Hermione agreed, nodding. “I realize that.”

 

It fell totally silent, nothing but the ticking of a clock on the wall interrupting the still of the headmaster’s office. It felt strangely appropriate.

 

“There is, as they say, no time like the present,” he informed her, taking a seat behind his desk and gesturing to the chair across from him.

 

“Surely you have more critical things to be doing right now?” she asked surprised as she sat.

 

“I can do nothing for the thirteen students in my care who died. I can do little for the six so far whose parents have pulled them from school. Saint Mungo’s and our own infirmary can best help the seven who are wounded. The most critical thing I can do at this juncture, is work toward making sure this _never_ happens again,” he said gravely.

 

“I’m not sure where to start,” she admitted.

 

“I find the beginning works best. Though, in your case, I can understand why that may be somewhat problematic,” he said.

 

She nodded hard in agreement, brow furrowed and eyebrows knit tightly as she thought. There were many places she might have begun her tale - with Voldemort’s first murder, with her first jump through time, with her acceptance letter to Hogwarts and first foray into the wizarding world - but in the end, one option made more sense than the rest.

 

“On Halloween night of 1981, Lord Voldemort was defeated - for the first time - by a baby named Harry.”

 

And so it began.

 

She spoke until her voice ran hoarse and then she accepted a lemon drop and spoke some more. She left out very little. Her headmaster had proven time and again that he could be counted on to put the interests of the wizarding world at large above his own. Right now, that was precisely what she needed.

 

Still… she couldn’t bring herself to reveal the Marauders’ animagi abilities. This - and this alone - felt like something that simply wasn’t her’s to share.

 

He took most of her story in stride, even his own death, save for her revelation of Voldemort’s horcruxes. At this, he stood abruptly and began pacing the room swiftly.

 

“It’s why they targeted Regulus Black on the platform,” Hermione revealed. “He defied Voldemort, stole one of his horcruxes and aimed to destroy it. He sacrificed his own life for the cause.”

 

Dumbledore paused at this and cast her a measuring glance.

 

“I admit, I would not have thought him to be in possession of the drive or conviction for such a bold stand,” the professor said finally.

 

“No one did,” Hermione told him. “It went undiscovered until long after his death… Professor, he won’t be safe at home now. He won’t be safe anywhere. Neither will any of the Order members. They were plainly targeted on the train. Tia, Cassie, Snape… all of them were vital in my history.”

 

“The road we must walk is long and paved by us as we go,” he told her, settling again in his chair. “And I am afraid Miss Harper is no safer than either of the Blacks.”   

 

“Why is that?” Hermione asked surprised. “I know nothing at all of her or her fate.”

 

“Given her nature, with the fates you’ve detailed for Mister Potter and the elder Mister Black, I can only imagine she intentionally faded into obscurity. But that option is absent to her now. I’m quite certain she recognized her own mother as one of the Death Eaters leading the attack today. And I have no doubt that her awareness was… noticed,” Dumbledore explained wearily.

 

The woman on the platform. Hermione recalled it clearly, the look that had shaded the Slytherin girl’s face upon hearing the woman’s voice. What a horrible thing it would be to realize your own mother murdered your friends.

 

“I was surprised at the absence of Miss Shacklebolt from your tale,” the headmaster told her.

 

“Her younger brother was absolutely instrumental in rebuilding the Ministry after the war ended. And he was a constant soldier in battle,” Hermione said. “But I honestly didn’t even know he had a sister.”

 

“And then there’s Mister Pettigrew…” the headmaster mulled darkly.

 

“He’s not that man, yet,” Hermione said, almost defensively. “He _could_ be, surely. But I’m not ready to condemn him for a betrayal he’s not yet committed.”

 

“And yet, we cannot wait for him to commit it, can we?” Dumbledore asked, levelling her with a stern look.

 

“Clearly not,” Hermione agreed. “But we also mustn’t treat him as if he already _has_.”

 

“Your moral compass is admirable, Miss Granger,” he told her.

 

She didn’t mistake this as him agreeing with her. But neither did she challenge the issue. For now.

 

“I’ve only just formed the Order that you speak of,” Dumbledore informed her. “We are, as the Muggles would say, behind the curve ball at this point, I fear.”

 

“Well, at least we have a good list of trustworthy allies to approach about joining the Order,” she mused. “Once they know more about what’s going on, I imagine all of the Order members from my timeline will insist on taking part. We might want to consider approaching some of the others, as well. Maura, certainly. Possibly Clio. Regulus. Maybe even Stella.”

 

He hummed noncommittally for a moment, eyeing her with a look she couldn’t quite interpret. It was as if he was weighing something, judging her in some way she couldn’t understand and didn’t really like.

 

“Professor?” She questioned uneasily.

 

“I wonder if perhaps you weren’t entirely wrong in your initial instincts,” he said finally. “There is a great burden in knowing one’s own future, one I am not certain that all of the people you’ve outlined would be prepared to carry. And, on a grander scale, the more people who know of this future you describe, the greater chance our world will deviate further from it.”

 

“But that’s the point, isn’t it?” She asked stunned.

 

“Is it?” He questioned. “If you were to tell Miss Evans and Mister Potter that in three years’ time they will be married with a child on the way, do you not think that two teenagers might not take precautions to keep that very thing from happening?”

 

“But…” Hermione’s protest died on her lips.

 

It was inconceivable to her that Lily and James might not want Harry to be born. But, when she truly thought about it, they were younger than she was now. If she were told she would give birth to the saviour of the wizarding world next year, would _she_ welcome such news joyously?

 

Of course not, she realized.

 

Lily and James didn’t love Harry yet. They would, surely, as just about everyone who wasn’t a Death Eater or a Dursley loved Harry. But right now she didn’t even know if they loved each other. They’d scarcely begun dating in this time. Might the revelation of their fates be enough to end their fledgling relationship? Was that a risk Hermione could really take?

 

“So we don’t tell them that part,” she resolved aloud. “We can’t just _keep_ everything from them. They’re all in grave danger!”

 

“Clearly, before they leave the halls of Hogwarts, they will need to gain a greater understanding of the hazards they face,” he acknowledged. “But for now, they are safe under my care, within the confines of this school.”

 

This, Hermione realized instantly, was a very familiar sounding statement. It was one she’d told herself many times over the past five weeks.

 

“I’ve tried that route, professor,” she told him. “And now Tia is dead. And Cassie and Snape and ten other students. And it’s my _fault_. If they’d just _known_...”

 

“I cannot see how their knowledge of their own potential importance would have saved them, Miss Granger. If anything, it might have emboldened them and we might well have lost more,” he told her gently. “Their deaths are the fault of Rodolphus Lestrange, Voldemort and the Death Eaters. The blame you feel is misplaced.”

 

His absolution did nothing to alleviate her feelings of guilt.  

 

“For now, we must gain control of the situation. Voldemort and his minions need to be put on the defense. And we need to begin seeking out his Horcruxes. But that, my dear, is a job for The Order,” he told her. “Within these walls, you have a very different task, but one no less important. It is vital that you stay close to those most important to our success, keep an eye out and an ear open. Befriend Lily and James, Marlene, Sirius, Remus and the others if you can. Look out for them and as you do, continually search your memory for details that might further our cause.”

 

She didn’t like it, but she nodded in agreement. Still, her hesitance could not have been missed.

 

“I will see to it that Molly and Arthur are well protected. As well as young Mr. Lovegood and your own parents,” he assured her.

 

She startled to realize that she’d not even _thought_ of the danger to her own parents.

 

“I ask you to trust in me, Miss Granger, as you have done before,” he told her gently and she found herself nodding in response. “There will be a time for your secrets to out, but not yet. Not now.”

 

“Of course, professor,” she said thinly. “We will wait. For now.”

 

And she did.

 

At first.

 

Days rolled on. Friends were laid to rest, Christmas passed with little fanfare and New Year’s was but two days away. The halls were empty as most students’ parents had elected to bring them home after the attack. But, virtually everyone Hermione knew had stayed behind. All of them had a suitable reason, but Hermione had to wonder how much of a hand Dumbledore had in their holiday plans.

 

Still… she was grateful they weren’t all out in the open where she couldn’t do a thing to protect them.  But the temptation to pull them aside and tell them everything gnawed at her every day.

 

She desperately wished she still had Tia to talk to.

 

The first thing that Hermione noticed when she entered her dorm room was that Stella was upset. She’d thrown something straight through the canvas she was painting on at some point, but that didn’t stop her creation process. The girl’s attention was wholly devoted to the work, her frustrations evident with every violent brushstroke. For once, she didn’t say a word.

 

Marlene sat nearby, long legs folded underneath her as she perched on her trunk, staring blankly at the nothingness that had taken over half their room.

 

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked Marlene, unable to keep the panic out of her voice.

 

“Nothing… it’s just… The Harpies made the playoffs,” Marlene told her sadly, casting her eyes toward Hermione as she spoke.

 

The two girls looked mournfully toward where Brenna’s bed had once sat. The girl would have been mad with excitement, had she lived to see her beloved team trounce the Falmouth Falcons. There would have been no end to Brenna’s jubilation. She’d have kept them up late with recaps of the game and she’d have woken them up early shouting her own response to the commentary on the wizarding radio. She’d have stunk up their room, refusing the change her socks because clearly they were good luck. And she’d have worn her favourite quidditch kit to bed every single night.

 

She’d have driven them batty.

 

It should have happened. _She_ should have made sure it happened.

 

Dumbledore’s approach, Hermione realized suddenly, was one she’d heard from him before. Several times. Stay inside, keep quiet, and wait. It hadn’t worked for Lily and James in 1981 and it hadn’t worked for Sirius in 1996. But he didn’t know that yet. He hadn’t yet lived through the fallout of those decisions; Hermione had and she could bloody well learn from them.

 

_She_ was the Ministry employee. _She_ was the one The Keeper had tasked with a mission. This was _her_ job, not Dumbledore’s. And, useful and well-meaning as his intentions might be, she could not afford to make the mistake of deferring the crisis at hand to his control.

 

She was Hermione Granger: best friend to Harry Potter, creator of Dumbledore’s Army and champion of house elf rights. She had battled Death Eaters, been tortured by Bellatrix and held hostage in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. She was _not_ a girl to sit back and let others take the lead when there was work to be done, not even if Headmaster Dumbledore was the one attempting to do so.

 

“Marlene... can you get word to Slytherin? Ask Clio and Regulus to meet with us? And Stella, can you do the same with Gryffindor? We’ll need Sirius, James and Lily, Remus and Maura… and… and Peter?” Hermione asked with sudden resolve, wavering only on the inclusion of Peter in her plan.

 

“Sure… but why?” Marlene asked curiously.

 

“I’ll explain everything when we all get there. Just, for now, have everyone meet up straight away on the seventh floor, in the left corridor, okay?” Hermione asked.

 

“But what do we tell them?” Stella asked, trading a confused look with Marlene.

 

“Tell them… Tell them that I’ve seen all this before,” she said honestly. “Tell them that we all have targets on our backs, but I know what to do. Tell them there’s work to be done.”

 


	9. A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history

 

“This is all a little overly dramatic, don’t you think?” Regulus asked, standing apart from the other students and sounding very much like the haughty upper-class pureblood he’d been raised as.

 

“Why are we even here?” Stella demanded bluntly.

 

“Just give me a moment and I’ll explain everything once we’re inside,” Hermione said pacing back and forth.

 

“Inside what?” Clio questioned, looking up and down the hall warily.

 

“Mate, I think Hermione’s gone round the bend. You get the women out and I’ll hold her off,” James declared, elbowing Sirius.

 

“Don’t be thick,” Lily rolled her eyes. “She’s not mad and if anything needs saving its your bravado. Clearly its too large to fit through the door without a little help.”

 

“But I thought you _liked_ my big bravado,” James grinned.

 

“Oh Merlin, that was terrible,” Maura told him as Lily blushed and Sirius high-fived the other boy with an enormous grin.

 

“Where the hell did that come from!” Peter squeaked loudly, interrupting his boisterous housemates.

 

The whole group turned to find Hermione standing in front of a door that had not been there just a few moments before.

 

“So you’d not found the Room of Requirement then? We’d wondered,” Hermione smiled slightly.

 

“The room of what, now?” James asked blinking as he pushed his glasses up.

 

“Who’s ‘ _we_?’” Remus asked astutely.

 

“I’ll explain in just a moment. That’s… sort of why we’re here,” Hermione told them, opening the door and gesturing for everyone to go inside.

 

One-by-one the others made their way into the room, taking it in with wide eyes and a pinch of confusion. The room itself was of little interest to Hermione. She was far more interested with the people _entering_ it.

 

Some of them were clearly vital to her current efforts, but there were others she found herself questioning their inclusion. As far as she knew, for all her politics, Stella had never joined the Order and Hermione had no idea _why_. She scarcely knew Maura at all and had only really included her because of her brother and because she felt certain that the Gryffindor boys would insist on it. But the real wild card in all of this was the Slytherins she’d summoned.

 

Regulus was a necessity, clearly. His life was most definitely in danger and his importance and eventual allegiances were a known element. But she would be a fool to blindly trust him _now_. And then there was Clio. Hermione had barely traded words with the other girl at all. She came from a decidedly dark and dangerous family, she was a Slytherin and Hermione knew nothing at all of the girl’s politics or her fate. She _did_ know the girl was very close with Sirius and James and that, if Dumbledore was right, she might be in danger herself. Most of all though, she knew that Clio had lost her best friend in the train attack. The kind of grief she’d witnessed at King’s Cross couldn’t be faked but even that couldn’t be enough to ensure Clio’s loyalty to their cause. She sorely hoped she wasn’t making a mistake by including the girl today.

 

“So… This room isn’t usually here…” Peter said from the oversized armchair he’d claimed from himself.

 

“It is and it isn’t,” Hermione replied.

 

“How delightfully cryptic,” Marlene said, eyeing her with amusement. “ _You’re_ in a singular mood today.”

 

“The Room of Requirement appears when you walk past it in the hall three times and have a need for it. Then it essentially becomes whatever you need it to be,” Hermione told them.

 

“How - _how_ \- did we not know about this?” James cried in outrage.

 

“It’s criminal that we didn’t,” Sirius added, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how many times I could have used a room like this? Broomclosets are incredibly cramped for space, you know. Too many cleaning supplies and too few flat surfaces.”

 

“Of course you’d be thinking of a place to shag,” Regulus griped from near the door. “Do you _ever_ think about anything that isn’t base in nature?”

 

“Just ignore him,” Stella advised Sirius from her perch on the sofa’s arm next to him.

 

“This from the boy who did his level best to knock up Chara Gamp and failed?” Sirius shot back, ignoring Stella’s advice and glancing toward his younger brother with a look that dripped with disdain.

 

For his part, Regulus’ ears turned pink and his jaw set with no small amount of ire.

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally volleyed back at Sirius.

 

“Sure I don’t,” Sirius laughed briskly, propping his feet up on the coffee table and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Can’t really blame you all that much, honestly. If I felt compelled to do mummy’s bidding and was told I had to marry Abelinda Avery, I’d do my level best to find a way out of it, too. And, to be fair, as ways out go at least Chara’s a sane and attractive one. Probably a bit bossy in bed though, yeah? Then again, you always have been one to follow other people’s commands, so maybe that works for you.”

 

“Are you trying to pick a fight with him? Because it’s working. And I, for one, would like to know why we’re actually here.”

 

It was Clio who spoke and Hermione was surprised to find that Sirius actually listened, shrugging and looking back toward Hermione instead of continuing to pick at his brother. It probably helped that he’d gotten the last word, but Regulus was positively fuming in the background.

 

“Fine. Let’s get to it, then. What’s going on?” Sirius asked.

 

Everyone’s eyes were on her and Hermione felt the weight of the moment heavily.

 

“We’re here because we’re all a target and it’s going to take all of us if we want to survive this war,” she told them.

 

Reactions were varied and instantaneous.

 

“Says _who_?” Remus asked.

 

“What the hell would we need Regulus for? Target practise?” Sirius asked.

 

“Thanks, but I’ve had enough of that lately,” Regulus replied dryly.

 

“They’re not after me!” Peter protested.

 

“Are you organizing a protest, then?” Stella asked with disproportionate excitement.

 

“I’m doing this wrong,” Hermione huffed, blowing a frazzled bit of hair from her face in frustration. “You all know I’m not from here, right?”

 

“Er…. yes…” James said, looking at her like she’d gone mad. “You transferred in. It wasn’t even all that long ago.”

 

Fabulous. He already thought she was nutters. This was going to go swimmingly.

 

“Well you’re all wrong, on that. I am from here,” she told them. “I’m just not from _now_.”

 

For a long couple of beats, the only noise was the crackling coming from the fireplace.

 

“...Come again?” Lily asked, having edged to the front of her chair.

 

“The headmaster doesn’t want you to know this, yet. He thinks the timeline would be safer if I kept it from you. But after… everything… Well, it’s my decision, not his, and I think you all deserve more control over your destinies than that. I’m from the future, more than twenty years in the future, and every last one of you and most of your families are very much in danger,” she told them.

 

“Hermione,” Marlene said gently, placing a hand on the other girl’s arm. “We’ve all been through a lot lately and, well, if you don’t mix the Pepper-Up potion just right it can do all sorts of things that muck with your head. Why don’t we just-”

 

“I’m not mad!” Hermione insisted, realizing even as she spoke that she sounded completely nutters. “And I’m not on any sort of potions! The Keeper sent me back to stop Rodolphus Lestrange from changing the past so that Voldemort wins the war.”

 

She didn’t expect any different reaction, really. So far as she knew, she hadn’t given them any sort of reason to believe a word she was saying, yet. So, she was surprised to find that the Purebloods amongst them all froze and looked at each other warily.

 

“Hermione, I think maybe we should get you to Madam Po-” Lily was starting.

 

“You’ve seen The Keeper?” James interrupted, for once paying no attention to Lily.

 

“He’s a myth,” Clio argued aloud. “No more real than… than Derrek Wandsworthy or Beedle the Bard’s stories.”

 

Hermione let that one slide for another time. They had enough they were dealing with just now.

 

“He’s not. He’s very real and he sent me here,” Hermione told them.

 

“Who’s The Keeper?” Stella asked.

 

“Keeper of Time,” Sirius answered. “Legend says he weaves strands of fate together to create the universe.”

 

“I don’t know about weaving, but he works in the Department of Mysteries and he’s spectacularly difficult to have a conversation with,” she told them.

 

“Make him take you back,” Regulus demanded suddenly, eyes burning with determination as he crossed the room to stand toe-to-toe with her. “Make him take you back to before the attack. Save her. Don’t let her sacrifice herself.”

 

“It doesn’t work that way,” she told him sympathetically. “I wish it did.”

 

“I’m not sure I believe all this…” Maura interrupted, earning nods from Lily and Remus. “I mean, I know the legend and all but still…”

 

“I can prove it,” Hermione told them, unsettled a little by Regulus’ continued proximity and determined stare.  

 

“ _How_?” James asked skeptically.

 

Hermione’s gaze drifted to a penseive sitting in the corner of the room. Had it been there the whole time? She wasn’t sure. This was a dangerous idea, full of all sorts of pitfalls. But she hadn’t another idea at the moment and she needed them to believe her. All of them.

 

“By showing you,” she said with resolve she didn’t particularly feel.

 

She would have to choose her memories carefully, _so very_ carefully. While she needed them to believe her about what was going on, Dumbledore hadn’t been entirely wrong either. There were things she was not prepared for them to know, much less actually _see_.

 

Mulling it over a moment, she walked over to the pensieve and began pulling out threads of memories. Carefully, _so_ carefully, she placed the silvery strands inside it and turned to the rest of the group.

 

“Well? Come on then,” she told them all. “I’ll give you your proof. But be aware, you may not like what you see.”

 

_The truth just hurts sometimes._

It was Tia’s voice echoing in her head. She’d been a bright witch.

 

James was the first to approach her, Sirius right behind him. The others followed suit shortly. Unsurprisingly, it was Clio who was last in approaching the pensieve and Hermione was absolutely certain that she wouldn’t have at all had Sirius and James not been there.

 

While Hermione had most certainly read a great deal about pensieves and had heard about Harry’s experiences with them in great detail, she’d not used one before now. She would most certainly look back upon the experience as… jarring.

 

They were greeted at once by the distinctive shrieks of Mrs. Black’s portrait.

 

“Er, sorry,” Hermione apologized. “I didn’t think I pulled quite this early.”

 

“BLOODY HELL,” Sirius scowled. “I escaped this house for a _bloody reason_!”

 

Regulus stood a few feet away, stiff as could be.

 

“Sirius…” James said warily, looking around.

 

“What the fuck is this?” Sirius asked, finally looking around warily. “Why the hell are we in Grimmauld Place? And why does it look like its been conquered by doxies? Not that I’m complaining about _that_ mind, you.”

 

“Would someone get the door and _shut her up_?”

 

It wasn’t Sirius commenting this time. Or, rather, it wasn’t the _current_ Sirius.

 

“Uh… mate…” James said, looking a little peaked.

 

“Who the hell is that?” Sirius asked, watching as his older self hurried down the stairs toward the door.

 

“We’re not supposed the answer the door, Sirius. Mrs. Weasley said so,” Hermione heard her own voice say from not far behind her.

 

She couldn’t help but turn to see herself and Ron, young and alive, rushing to close the drapes to Mrs. Black’s portrait.

 

“That’s not me,” Sirius protested hotly. “My hygiene is considerably better than that. And I wouldn’t… that’s not… It’s not _me_.”

 

“You had a hard life, the first time around,” Hermione told him.

 

“It can’t be him,” Regulus added with great confidence, surprising Hermione. “Blacks age considerably better than _that_.”

 

“Moony!” The elder Sirius said cheerfully as he opened the door to find Remus, Tonks and Hestia.

 

The younger Remus’ gasp caught in his throat and Maura muttered something like “ _this can’t be for real_ ,” but it was Regulus’ total silence that drew Hermione’s attention the most. He’d frozen completely stock-still, his eyes locked on Tia, older than she’d ever be this time around.

 

“‘Lo, Padfoot,” the former professor said, smiling but looking a little worse for wear.

 

“Apparently you steal your father’s wardrobe at some point, Remus,” James snickered.

 

Maura promptly punched him in the arm. Hard.

 

“Hush, I want to hear this!” Lily told them sternly.

 

“Wotcher!” Tonks said cheerily.

 

“How goes the guard duty? Anything exciting?” Sirius asked, looking far too eager for a response.

 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Tia shook her head. “There was nary a peep on Privet Drive. It’s quieter than the Ravenclaw common room night before NEWTS. Gave me the willies to be honest.”

 

“Too right,” Tonks agreed. “I’d almost rather the Death Eaters struck. Then at least we’d know what they are up to and could do something. It’s too quiet like this.

 

“But… not to worry, you lot,” she directed loudly toward Ron and young Hermione, as if she’d suddenly remembered they were there. “Harry’s safe as houses. We’re watching over him day and night and you’ll all be back together soon enough.”

 

“Who’s Harry?” Marlene asked. “And how long from now _is_ this? The Death Eaters are _still_ around?”

 

“It’s got to be a long time,” Peter speculated. “Just look at Sirius and Remus. They look _ancient_.”

 

“Thanks,” Remus said dryly in response.

 

“Harry is… He’s The Boy Who Lived. He’s the one who saved us all. He’s a hero to the wizarding world. He’s _the_ hero,” Hermione responded to Marlene. “He’s Harry Potter and he’s my best friend.”

 

“He’s _who_ now??” James demanded, wide-eyed and eyebrows shooting for his hairline.

 

“He’s your son, James,” she told him with a little smile, watching as James’ chest puffed out with pride.

 

Harry would have given anything to see this moment. Of that, she was sure.

 

“Hear that? _My son_ is the saviour of the wizarding world,” James crowed with pride, elbowing Sirius.

 

“You _had_ to give him something else to boast about, didn’t you, Hermione?” Lily asked, rolling her eyes. “Like there wasn’t enough already.”

 

“Sorry, Lily,” Hermione shrugged. “I didn’t write history.”

 

_... Not last time, anyhow_.

 

“I can’t help if I’m prone to greatness,” James announced pridefully. “Apparently its a family trait! I bet he’s great at quidditch, too. Is he great a quidditch? Of course he is. He’ll have the best training broom there is before he’s out of nappies.”

 

“He is, actually,” Hermione smiled, biting her lip a bit.

 

Possibly she shouldn’t encourage him, but there was something amazing about seeing James Potter absurdly proud of Harry. She couldn’t have cut him short if she needed to.

 

“He’s the best seeker I’ve ever seen,” she told him. “Youngest in a century. He became team captain and won two cups.”

 

“That’s my boy!” James preened.

 

“There’ll be no living with him now. You realize this, right?” Remus asked.

 

“Honestly, he was barely tolerable much of the time before,” Marlene pitched in.

 

“You wound me, McKinnon! But nothing can dampen my mood at the moment. My son is a quidditch god and champion of wizarding kind!” James proclaimed.

 

“Yes, well, he _will_ be. Provided we manage to keep everyone here alive and thwart Voldemort in the meantime, because he will most certainly be shooting for _you_ ,” Hermione reminded James.

 

“Yeah, I was wrong. Apparently one thing can dampen my mood. Cheers for that, Hermione,” he said, tone a bit glummer.

 

“This is a lot to ask us to believe,” Clio said, speaking up for the first time in a while. “Clearly, you make a convincing argument for your case, but there are all sorts of ways you might create a false memory.”

 

“To what end?” Stella laughed sharply, looking at the Slytherin girl with disbelief.

 

“I don’t know, as yet,” Clio responded defensively, eyebrow arched. “Which only serves to make me more cautious.”

 

Regulus hummed in something that sounded like agreement a few paces away, but his gaze was still solidly fixed on Hestia.

 

Their previous selves wandered off and the scene of Grimmauld Place dissolved into the familiar cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. It was just before the start of term, fifth year, and there were three distinct reasons Hermione had chosen this memory. Two of the three were immediately evident.

 

“Don’t wander off too far,” a booming voice commanded and young Hermione, Ron and Harry all nodded.

 

“Merlin! He looks just like me!” James shouted excitedly, eyes fixed on Harry. “My boy looks just like me! Do you see?”

 

“Holy shit! Is that Kingsley??” Maura was asking stunned, looking at the man with the commanding voice. “How is he that tall??”

 

“It is Kingsley,” Hermione confirmed.

 

“Bloody hell… He looks like my dad,” Maura said, shaking her head.

 

“Remind me _not_ to take you up on that offer of dinner with your parents,” Remus laughed nervously, looking up at Kingsley.

 

“Eh, Dorian’s not that bad,” Sirius said with a shrug. “Just talk quidditch with him and hope he doesn’t realize you’re shagging his daughter and you’ll be fine.”

 

“Brilliant advice, mate. Thanks,” Remus said sarcastically. “If you’ll remember, I don’t play quidditch.”

 

“Might want to think about starting,” Peter said with a wince as he looked up at Kingsley.

 

“Gutless excuses for Gryffindors, all of you,” Maura shook her head.

 

But Hermione wasn’t paying much mind to their conversation. Instead, her focus was solidly fixed to Lily Evans, who was watching Harry with something like astonishment written across her face.

 

“That’s a nasty scar,” Lily observed, her hand drifting to her own temple where she’d suffered a frightening wound in the attack on the train.

 

“It is,” Hermione confirmed softly.

 

“How’d he get it?” Lily asked, sounding nervous and protective all at once.

 

She knew, Hermione realized. Even without being told, Lily _knew_.

 

“He nearly died as a baby,” Hermione told her. “Voldemort himself tried to kill him.”

 

“But… then how did he survive?” James asked.

 

“His mother sacrificed herself to save him,” Hermione said, watching Lily as she spoke.

 

“It’s me,” Lily said after a beat in a tone that was most definitely not a question. “I’m his mother. And I die saving him.”

 

Everyone was utterly silent as they watched Hermione. Then, slowly, she nodded.

 

James’ earlier jubilation over the sheer awesomeness of his son dissipated swiftly at that. And, probably mostly without thinking about it, the other Marauders closed ranks around Lily protectively, as if Voldemort might pop out of the woodwork right there in Hermione’s memory.

 

“How… how long do I have, then? You said he was a baby at the time. I can’t have more than… what, ten years left? Fifteen at most?” Lily asked, her voice remarkably unwavering.

 

“It doesn’t have to happen like that,” Hermione assured her. “Not this time. We can fix this before he’s ever even born. We can take down Voldemort ourselves and break his hold on the wizarding world, making everything safer for you _and_ Harry.”

 

“We aren’t going to let anything happen to you, Lily,” Sirius told her, his hands on her shoulders and eyes boring into hers.

 

There was no trace at all of his usual joking demeanour.

 

“Damn straight,” James pitched in fiercely, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. “You’re going to be my wife, mother of my son, no way are we letting Voldemort or anyone else kill you.”

 

“Holy shit,” Lily laughed sharply with an uncharacteristic swear. “I sodding _marry_ James?”

 

“Well, you don’t have to _laugh_ about it, Mrs. Potter…” James said, obviously trying to seem unphased by her reaction to her sudden realisation.

 

“You did in my timeline,” Hermione acknowledged. “But your fate is your own to write. That’s why I’m here, telling you - all of you - this. No one’s forcing you to marry James and have his baby.”

 

_Though I really wish you would_ , Hermione added silently.

 

Still, pressuring the girl seemed a particularly terrible plan and her words clearly struck a chord with the redhead, as Lily nodded fiercely at Hermione’s statement.

 

“We need to follow me to the bookstore,” Hermione said, realising as she spoke how odd that sentence sounded. “There’s something else I need to show you here.”

 

There was a book signing that day. Not one that Hermione had been particularly keen to attend. It fell somewhat outside her interests at the time but it certainly served her purposes now. Still, she watched her former self huff in annoyance as she tried to make her way through a moderate-sized crowd to actually get to the books.

 

After being tortured past the brink of sanity toward the end of the first war, Stella Gardner had become a notable recluse. Her art became as inconsistent as her memories for years. Word had it, she’d routinely believed herself to be at different points of her life. A child one moment, a teenager the next. She’d thought visitors were her mother, her ex-lovers, her dead sister. It had taken years for her to recover to a point where she could actually function. And it was years further before she actually emerged from the home she shared with her lover, author Bleinheim Stalk.

 

But, eventually, she wrote a book.

 

It wasn’t just Stella’s mind that had suffered horribly at the hands of Death Eaters. The left side of Stella’s body lacked nearly all muscle control. She looked very much like someone who had suffered a severe stroke. After many years, she’d managed to learn to walk with a cane, but it was clearly incredibly difficult on her. Still, the once fierce girl had become a fierce woman and she wasn’t one to give up.

 

“What happened to me?” Stella asked, unable to tear her eyes away from her older self.

 

“You were _Crucioed_. At length. Your claimed it was Bellatrix Lestrange, but your memory was considered unreliable considering what you went through. The ministry declined to pursue it,” Hermione informed her.  

 

“Bloody nice way of saying my sodding cousin bought her way out of trouble,” Sirius spat, his hand laying supportively on Stella’s back.

 

Hermione couldn’t stand to watch the horrible look on her friend’s face or the girl’s older self as she struggled to do something as simple as sign autographs of her book. Instead, she turned away from them all, cast her eyes on the street and let herself soak everything in, letting herself live in this time for the briefest of moments. Still, as she did so, she noticed something she’d not the last time around.

 

“What is he _doing_ here!” Hermione exclaimed all of the sudden, catching sight of a large, black, shaggy dog.

 

Her exclamation grabbed everyone’s attention and the Gryffindor boys all looked at each other warily as they took note of who she had spotted.

 

“Er… we should probably-” James started, clearly trying to wrap things up, but he was interrupted by a collective gasp as Padfoot shifted into Sirius in an alleyway nearby.

 

“The Ministry would have to be bloody mad to give you a license to be an animagus, Sirius,” Maura protested. “Honestly, who’s in charge of things in your era, Hermione?”

 

“By the time I left? Your brother, actually,” Hermione told her.

 

“My… _excuse me_?” Maura asked flabbergasted.

 

“Kingsley. He’s Minister of Magic after the war,” Hermione told her with a thin smile.

 

“Oh, well… I s’pose that explains a lot, then. Merlin help us all,” Maura replied.

 

“He’ll need to be protected, too, then,” Remus noted.

 

He wasn’t wrong.

 

After shifting, the Sirius of Hermione’s memory had begun to follow Kingsley, Harry and Ron but stopped suddenly in his tracks at the edge of a small shop that Hermione had never taken note of. He didn’t go in or talk to anyone. He just stood there, heavily cloaked at the very edge of the storefront window, gazing in looking surprised and a little stricken.

 

At first, it didn’t make any sense to Hermione. It was a jewelry shop, for Merlin’s sake, and a rather pricey one at that. Why would Sirius have any interest whatsoever in-

 

“That’s me,” Clio breathed quietly, watching the woman organizing displays in window.

 

_Oh_ … that made a bit more sense, then.

 

Neither Sirius said anything.

 

“I hadn’t known you,” Hermione told her. “I hadn’t even known _of_ you before I came back. Maura either, though at least I knew her brother. But you… I hadn’t a clue you even existed.”

 

“Looks like a nice shop, Clio,” James said casting a light smile in her direction.

 

“It does,” Clio agreed, but given that the shop had been her life’s ambition for virtually forever, she sounded less than ecstatic about it.

 

This might have been because she was watching the older Sirius watching her, rather than surveying her own shop. Whether the girl realized it or not, it was evident to Hermione that Clio’s priorities included far more than her success as a jeweler these days.

 

“What about the rest of us?” Marlene asked suddenly, probably trying to shift the conversation for her Slytherin friend’s benefit. “I mean, you said you didn’t know of Maura. But what about me? And Peter, James and Regulus?”

 

“Really, I only know _of_ the four of you,” Hermione said. “I’m afraid you died before my time, Marlene. Like Lily, James died saving Harry. Regulus died trying to destroy Voldemort. And Peter disappeared and was presumed dead around the same time James and Lily died.”

 

Technically it was all true.

 

“Dorcas died before I was born, as well, but she was a real threat to Voldemort himself before he finally took her out. Snape became a spy for Dumbledore within the Death Eaters and a potions professor at Hogwarts. And Tia made it through the whole war,” Hermione told them.

 

“She should _be_ here,” Regulus said insistently, speaking again for the first time since having seen Tia at Grimmauld Place. “You should have done something sooner. You should have saved her. She wasn’t meant to die.”

 

It was like hearing her own thoughts voiced aloud.

 

“You can’t blame Hermione!” Sirius scoffed. “She wasn’t the one tossing around killing curses.”

 

“I _can_ blame her,” Regulus nodded fiercely, standing defiantly in front of his brother.

 

For the first time, Hermione could see in him the backbone he’d eventually shown in her timeline.

 

“ _She_ didn’t warn us in time. _She_ had a mission to protect us. _She_ failed. Because of _that_ , Tia is bloody _dead_. So, yes, I _can_ blame her. And I _do_ ,” Regulus said angrily, still standing toe-to-toe with Sirius, but glaring daggers at Hermione.

 

“Fine,” Hermione acknowledged, waving off Sirius’ inevitable response. “Yes, I was supposed to protect you all and I failed. I’m sorry. I would give anything to go back and do it again, but even I don’t have that option. All we can do now is move forward.

 

“So your choice is this, Regulus,” she told him, matching his intense stare with one of her own and her hands firmly planted on her hips. ‘You can stand with us and try to save your _own_ life and avenge Tia’s death or… or you can place the blame solely at my feet, run away, hide and hope you live. Unless you plan to join the very ranks of the people who killed her, I don’t see another option.”

 

“Don’t be a fool, Regulus,” Clio muttered nearby, quietly enough that probably only Regulus, Sirius and Hermione heard her. “Don’t let pride get you killed. Tia wouldn’t want that.”

 

“That’s rather ironic isn’t it?” He replied, equally hushed. “You, of all people, advising against being prideful?”

 

“You little shit,” Sirius growled at him.

 

“She died saving _you_ ,” Clio told Regulus, cutting off whatever inciteful thing Sirius had been about to say.

 

She watched as those words washed over him. His shoulders sagged a little and the weight of Clio’s statement settled upon him. He blamed himself, Hermione realized in that instant. He blamed himself for Tia’s death. It was just easier to place the blame at _her_ feet, at anyone’s feet, than to live with it weighing down on him.

 

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m not even doing it for me,” he told her finally. “But if you’re going to bring down the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, I’m in.”

 

“We all are,” Maura said stepping forward, heads nodding all around her.

 

For the first time in _weeks_ , Hermione felt like something had actually gone right.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes - Okay, this fic requires a little bit of explanation. I have a tremendous weakness for time-travel fic (and time-travel stories in general) but haven't written one for any fandom in literally decades. A couple of years ago, some friends of mine and I were writing an RPG set in the Marauder-era (those of you who have read "Four Girls Sirius Black Could Have Fallen In Love With [And One He Did]" will recognize some of the OCs here, as they are also based off of the RPG). I loved it. I miss it. And I got to thinking... how fun could it be if I sent Hermione back in time to our version (more or less) of Marauder-era? Well... oodles, at turns out. At least for me. This will be a long story. I hope it will be an ensemble fic, rather than Hermione-centric, and I intend to write several POVs. How long will it take me to write? No idea. How often will I update? Not a clue. Will it EVER finish? Your guess is as good as mine. But what I can promise is this - I will be faithful to the characters as I see them; I will try to tell a story that looks at how little things we do change big things around us; And I will try to show that no matter how much we think we know about people, about eras, about history, there's more to it than we assume.
> 
> I hope you stick around and read a bit. If you enjoy it, let me know. If you don't... well, let me know that, too. I can take criticism as long as it's constructive. While this story is totally stand-alone and will not follow the same plot as our RPG, there will be a few lines hijacked from the RPG here and there. If they aren't ones I wrote, I will credit them. From the get-go, characterization credit goes to Kileaiya, Andacus and RJLupinsKat for James, Sirius and Hestia Jones respectively. None of this would exist without our collaborative effort alongside ShyGryff and Celtmama and several others who popped in to write with us from time to time. 
> 
> Portions of this story were previously posted on FFN but as I'm now actually writing it again, I thought I'd put it here too. Thanks for reading!


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